Relationships
by vcg73
Summary: Vignettes focused on the friends and acquaintances that fill Kurt's life throughout Season 2. Each chapter will highlight a different person, but I'm sticking with on-screen canon characters. I have no idea how many chapters/characters this will entail.
1. Mercedes: Best Friends, Forever?

**This one is rather sad. Based on observations of Season 2, episode 1-4.**

They were drifting apart. Every day, it seemed as though the gulf grew just a little bit wider, the distance just a bit more difficult to navigate. For a while, Kurt told himself that it was just his imagination. Or that maybe they were simply too busy to spend as much time together as usual.

He knew this was a lie.

At the end of Sophomore year, they had been so close it was like having a twin. It did not matter that he was a skinny, white, gay boy and she was a plus-sized, black, straight girl. They shared a special bond. It was more than having the same movie crushes, favorite foods, and the like. Sometimes they could almost read each others' mind. He knew when Mercedes' self-esteem needed a pick me up. She knew when he was lonely or frightened. They knew how to make each other smile and there were no secrets between them.

Then Quinn Fabray had moved in with Mercedes and Finn Hudson had moved in with him. Each new arrangement had lasted for less than a month (less than a _week_ in Kurt's case) but they were each affected by those changes more profoundly than they had expected.

Kurt found himself warier to extend his trust and, for the very first time, reluctant to tell his best friend his troubles. His blow-up with Finn was the bitter end to a school-year's worth of hopes and dreams that predated his friendship with Mercedes. It was something too terrible, and too painful, to share with anyone. So, he remained silent, simply telling her that things had not worked out.

Another reason he could not talk to her was that Mercedes had started moving toward a strengthening of her already-deep faith in God after spending so much time with Quinn. Seeing the other girl's struggle with her life and her own faith, witnessing the miracle of human birth first hand, had made Mercedes introspective and thoughtful. It was something that was clearly too personal to share easily and Kurt could not bring himself to ask. He tended to avoid the subject of religion, not sure how his fellow students would greet the news that he was an atheist.

Summer had come between them next. Mercedes had spent most of those three months visiting relatives in D.C. and Kurt had devoted much of his own time to working at his father's garage. His father's defense against Finn had moved him deeply and he felt the need to strengthen the family bond they were rebuilding, a bond that had not been so strong since Kurt's mother died.

Mercedes and Kurt phoned and texted regularly over the summer, but rarely for more than a few minutes at a time. Conversation dried up more quickly when there was no high-school gossip chain or common experience to connect them.

When Junior year began, their relationship had seemed to be getting back to normal. Kurt's wounds had mended, if not entirely healed, and he was able to laugh and chatter over fashion, music and boys again. Mercedes had mentioned volunteering at her church and he was glad to realize that the secular and spiritual compromise did not interfere with her desire for an active social life.

The first few weeks of school passed uneventfully. They tried and failed to recruit new members for Glee, there was a fight to perform Brittany Spears that had resulted in Kurt throwing what even he had to admit to himself was a PMS level hissy-fit; and eventual victory to perform their chosen song that was later ruined by the sexy number causing an actual riot within the student body.

Kurt chose to ignore his continued distance with Mercedes, pretending that it did not bother him that she chose to sit with Quinn or Artie or some other club member at least as often as she did him. After all, they were her friends too and she had every right to spend time with them.

Then Kurt's father had a severe heart attack. He fell into a coma and for a week and a half, Kurt felt like he was living inside of a nightmare. He could not think, or react, or feel anything separate from the all-consuming fear and anger of knowing that he could lose his dad at any moment.

Then the others had started bombarding him with prayers; offers to pray for Dad, to pray for him, to sing spiritual songs that were obviously about making themselves feel better, but doing absolutely nothing for him. When he had admitted that he was not a believer, he had seen shock, dismay and even disgust filling various pairs of eyes.

Mercedes was the worst of all. She had looked at him like he had just confessed to a love of torturing small animals. Even before his confession, she had claimed that she did not know what to say to him.

Those words had cut Kurt like a sharp blade. "I'm sorry this happened. What can I do? C'mere, baby, let it all out." Were the words she would have uttered without a second thought last year, or could have simply conveyed with one of her warm, one-of-a-kind hugs, now beyond her? Was _he_ so far from her thoughts that they never even occurred to her?

And then she had gone behind his back, after he had specifically stated that he did not want prayers, and joined Quinn and Rachel in their unwanted prayer-vigil at his father's bedside. They had invited Carole and Finn to join them, but never even told him what they were planning. He might have even allowed it if anyone had. He did not believe, but that did not mean he was incapable of appreciating a caring gesture.

The question was, why did nobody care about how _he_ felt? Why did his best friend no longer care? Had his lack of faith done what the revelation of his sexuality had not, and driven her away; made him disgusting to her?

That was the real reason he had given in to Mercedes' request that he attend her church service. He did not want to go. The entire experience had been uncomfortable and embarrassing, and it had not changed his views on a higher being at all, but Mercedes had been so proud and hopeful and sure that he would have an epiphany and start believing. He had smiled and hugged her, thanked her for what she had done, all the while feeling his heart twist with pain that he had been forced to offer comfort while feeling none.

Kurt's dad had emerged from his coma and was on the road to recovery. Taking care of Dad provided a welcome distraction from Kurt's other troubles, but he found himself avoiding Mercedes. Their bond no longer seemed so solid. His trust in her love and understanding felt broken and empty.

Desperate to make their relationship feel normal again, he invited Mercedes to sit with him during Glee. For a while, conversation was flowing nicely. She shot him a friendly insult over his new shirt – saying it looked like Christmas wrap for a bondage-gift – and he was starting to feel better. Then, he had made an effort to initiate a gossip session about the new boy. There was little doubt in his mind that the absurdly blond quarterback was gay, or at least questioning, but his saucy comment to that effect was quickly dismissed.

When Mercedes casually asked who he wanted to sing his duet assignment with, Kurt suddenly realized to his own dismay that he did not want to utter the, "Why, you, of course!" that would once have been a natural response. Not that they ever did sing together, but he should have jumped at the chance, shouldn't he? Instead, he had decided to pursue the quarterback. Stupid history repeating itself, and that idea had quickly turned around and bit him in the ass. By the time he had been left partner-less, Mercedes had teamed up with Santana and the two of them barely spoke to each other again.

They congratulated each other on great performances, exchanged a sorrowful look at not winning the prize, and that was it.

Suddenly, without quite knowing how it had happened, they were friendly but no longer quite friends.

Kurt wondered if they would ever get that relationship back.

How could they even start?


	2. Rachel: Come On, Get Happy

**A/N: Okay, so I seem to have majorly bummed out my reading audience with that last chapter and worried a couple of folks over the future of Kurt and Mercedes' friendship! Oops… Just remember that the show writers don't take their clues from me (or the continuity fairy) so by next week things between K and M may very well be all roses and high fashion again, with no explanation given. : ) **

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She watched anxiously as he looked slowly through her sheet music collection, her petite form all but vibrating with excitement. It had surprised her and filled her with an unexpected thrill of delight when he had half-heartedly agreed to join her for a duet. They had not worked together directly before, just the two of them, because they always seemed to be in direct competition. Solos, song-selections, Finn . . . and somehow, she always emerged the victor.

If anyone had asked, Rachel would have assured them that it was her own indomitable personality and superior talent that had won the day so often. Privately, she knew that was not always the case.

Kurt's personality was anything but weak. He had been quite correct last year during the diva-off when he had blithely declared that he was the more popular of the two of them. And his talent? Well, she still gave herself credit for being a notch above in that regard, but the distance was getting smaller. Over the past summer, Kurt's frame had grown several inches and his voice had gained maturity right along with it. Still capable of hitting unbelievable high notes, the tone of his voice had grown richer, fuller and more beautiful.

Rachel was not sure quite when it had happened, but Kurt had discovered the key to unlocking his emotions through song and laying them all out in his performances, for the entire world to see. The Beatles ballad he had performed when his father was in the hospital had ripped her heart out. The show-stopper he had done for his self-styled duet this week had thrilled her to the core. Witnessing Kurt, whom she had somehow deluded herself into thinking of as a lesser talent, performing two such disparate songs with equal surety and strength had startled her. Worried her a little, to be honest. It was unsettling to realize that this boy might be only beginning to tap the potential that lay within him, while _she_ had been giving everything she had to every song for . . . well, she could not even remember how long!

And yet, Kurt was not smug or overbearing about his new and improved talent level. Surely, he could not be unaware of the differences she was hearing, but Kurt seemed to regard them as just "one of those things". A part of growing up, like getting taller, or losing weight, or having to shave a bit more often; as nothing that anyone could be expected to regard as special.

Rachel had been watching him all week, noting how sad and distant he appeared. She had mentioned it to Finn, who just mumbled something about Kurt having taken one for the team again and how it was for the best. That had bothered her. She wasn't blind. She had seen the guilty expression on Finn's face and the bewildered one on the new boy when Kurt had announced the dissolution of their duet partnership.

She had been considering this project for a couple of days, unsure whether Kurt would welcome her suggestion or just shoot her idea down with that well-honed air of disdain. The defeated expression on his face when Sam and Quinn had won the contest had made up her mind. Sure, it was a little built based on guilt. After all, she and Finn had been responsible for the way things had turned out, but her plan for Sam to win the contest and happily remain with New Directions had not been intended to hurt anyone else. Her desire to sing with Kurt was also based on the bond that had developed between all of them over the past year. It was not right for one of their own to be so isolated.

Rachel smiled when Kurt flipped past the first hundred pages of her collected works of artists whose songs were ideal to showcase her talent, and opened the section marked with a pink post-it and a gold star sticker. He read the page and laughed slightly, a sound she suddenly realized she had not heard in a long time.

"Barbra and Judy," he said, amusement tugging at his cheeks and allowing his dimples to pop into view. "The Judy Garland Show, 1963."

Beaming at him for his instant recognition, Rachel moved closer to Kurt and impulsively squeezed his arm. "Isn't it perfect?"

Kurt looked a little surprised by the affectionate gesture but did not attempt to shake it off. He smiled a bit more warmly. "Well, nobody can claim this isn't in our wheelhouse, I'll give you that much."

"Just think!" she said, clutching him harder as she raised her other hand and swept it through the air as though painting a picture. "We can totally recreate the entire iconic performance. Just the two of us, in costumes reminiscent of the original, sitting on stools and singing the ultimate counterpoint duet."

"You as Barbra and me as Judy, I assume?"

She smiled, pleased to find them on the same page. "Naturally. Barbra is my icon, my inspiration, my role model in all things since the age of two. Only I could do her justice."

A soft snort escaped the boy. "And you believe I'd be the perfect Judy because . . . ?"

A soft blush heated Rachel's cheeks but she smiled playfully as she said, "Don't all gay men love Judy? My dads are crazy about her. And, unlike most of our fellow glee clubbers, I know you've got the power and vocal skill to keep up with me."

Finally, Kurt laughed outright. "Don't let Mercedes and Santana hear you say that."

Pleased to realize that he had taken her words as the jest she had intended, Rachel steered him to face her, loosening her grip on his arm to slide it forward and capture both of his hands. She pumped them and grinned broadly, coaxing him, "Weeeell? What do you say? Partners?"

Kurt studied her face for a few seconds, the bemused smile never leaving his lips. Then he nodded and said in an equally playful tone, "Miss Berry, it would be an honor."

An excited squeal that would have embarrassed her in front of this boy at any other time burst from Rachel's mouth and she flung both arms around him. "Oh, I knew you'd say, yes!" Releasing him, she picked up the thick notebook full of sheet music, plans already chasing rapidly through her brain. "Now, we want to get this ready quickly so that the rest of the club doesn't have time to move out of the mind-set of duets. Otherwise, how are we going to show them how easily we could have won that silly Breadsticks certificate if I'd thought of this sooner? But we don't want to do it so quickly that you don't have the proper amount of time to prepare for your half, because naturally I've already got my half memorized and fully prepared. I always knew I'd be performing this song one day you see, it was just a matter of finding the proper partner. So, what we need to do first . . . "

"Rachel!" Kurt shouted, breaking into her burst of words with an exasperated sigh. She blinked up at him and he huffed a soft laugh. "Slow down. This is something for us, right? Not to impress the club or find a new number for competition, but a performance for the two of us."

She blushed again. "Oh. Yes, you're right. Of course it is."

Kurt recaptured her right hand, giving it a warm squeeze. "So, why don't we just get our outfits and arrangement together this weekend, and perform it on Monday."

"Are you sure you'll be ready?"

That disdainful eyebrow rose at once but unlike most times, it struck Rachel as being more of a tease than a condemnation. "Forget your troubles. And just get happy. You better chase all your tears away. Shout Hallelujah, and just get happy. We're heading for the judgment day."

Rachel's smile grew wide again as she listened. The lyrics were soft and filled with a light jazzy rhythm that proved exactly how familiar Kurt was with both the song and the original performance from which it derived. "You've sung this before."

"Just waiting for the right partner to come along," he shot back. Kurt checked his pocket watch. "Listen, I have to go home and get dinner started for my dad. Why don't we get together tomorrow and work on putting everything together?"

"That sounds perfect. Would you like to come to my house, around one o'clock? My dads will be home but they won't mind. Unless you need to stay home to keep an eye on your father. How is he, by the way? I've wanted to ask, but, well we haven't really talked lately."

Kurt's chin lifted. "He's doing very well, thank you. A little better every day." When she smiled and nodded, a little of the stiffness disappeared from his posture. "Finn's mother is coming by tomorrow to spend the day with him. I'm sure they'd be happy to have me out of the picture for a few hours."

The little smile that snuck across his lips at those words revealed how pleased he was by the continued closeness between his father and Carole.

"Excellent! So, my house at one?"

He nodded. "I'll be there."

"Good." Rachel gathered her things and strode toward the music room door in her usual brisk fashion, already thinking about small changes that could be made to the original duet to better suit it to her and Kurt's unique voices, when the sound of her name stopped her. "Yes?"

Kurt looked a little uncomfortable suddenly, ducking his head as his rosy cheeks took on a hint of extra color. "Thanks. Not for this but, you know . . . for noticing?"

He was clearly embarrassed to recall her attention to his loneliness, but Rachel smiled and turned back. Stretching up, she kissed him on the cheek, which turned them even redder.

"One o'clock," she repeated. "Don't be late to rehearsal. It's unprofessional."

He grinned, his eyes taking on a sparkle they had not revealed in quite some time. "You're such a diva."

She grinned back. "Takes one to know one."

"You're not going to leave until you've got the last word, are you?"

"Never."

He laughed. "Good night, Rachel."

"Good night, Kurt."

"Do you want a ride home?" he asked impulsively. "You're on my way."

Rachel was startled. He had never made such an offer to her before. She had intended to go down to the football field and wait for Finn to finish practice but instead she nodded. "That would be very nice of you."

"It's no trouble," he said quietly, picking up his messenger bag and looping her elbow through his own in the way she had so often seen him do with Mercedes and Tina.

As they walked out into the hallway, silence descended over them but it was not the usual awkward moment of two people unsure what to say to each other. It felt more like, friendship.

It did not even occur to her until they were in Kurt's SUV and headed towards her home, both singing along to the "Wicked" soundtrack currently playing over Kurt's sound system that she had let him have the last word in their conversation.

Seeing the happiness on his face as they sang together, enjoying this moment of rare camaraderie, Rachel decided that she did not mind a bit.


	3. Matt: You Say Goodbye, I Say Hello

**A/N: This one was harder than the last two chapters because I didn't have much of a pre-established relationship to base it on. Don't know if I totally like this one, but I prefer to think that Matt didn't just vanish without so much as a goodbye. **

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"So, you're leaving Lima, huh?"

Matt nodded, wrapping his lips around the straw sticking out of his milkshake and pulling deeply on the thick chocolaty beverage.

"How come?"

The boy kept his eyes locked on the table but a flicker of sorrow chased across his features.

"Is it your dad's job? Mike said there'd been some changes over at the plant."

A deep sigh met this question, followed by another nod.

Kurt rubbed exasperated fingertips across his forehead then thumped both hands down on the tabletop, making Matt jump and abandon his attentive pursuit of the last few drops of milkshake at the bottom of his glass.

Matt frowned. "What?"

"You know, there's a difference between a dialogue and a monologue," Kurt told him wryly. He gestured back and forth between them. "Ideally, since we're the only people here, we choose the first option and both participate in the conversation."

Matt shifted in his seat. "Sorry. Guess I'm so used to having other people pick up the slack that I forget to do my share of the talking sometimes." He shrugged. "I've been a little bummed ever since I found out last week that my dad has been reassigned. We'll be leaving on Monday. This is the longest we've ever lived in one place and I was hoping it would last until I graduated."

Mr. Rutherford was a Captain with the U.S. Army and had been assigned to oversee the day to day operations by civilian contractors working at the Lima Army Tank Plant over the past three years.

"That sucks," Kurt said mildly.

Not knowing what else to say, he pushed the basket of French fries he'd been nibbling over for the other boy to share. He'd only ordered them because it felt weird to sit in a booth with no food in front of him after he'd offered to buy lunch.

Matt and his mother had come by the Hummel garage to get their car serviced before the long interstate drive they would soon be making. Kurt had overheard Mrs. Rutherford talking to his father and decided to invite his depressed looking schoolmate to cross the street and grab a burger. Matt had jumped at the offer, surprising him a little. After all, they had been friendly during the last several months in Glee but had never quite reached the level of friends. It was just hard to get to know a guy who never said anything.

A deep sigh met Kurt's statement and Matt munched a huge mouthful of fries for several minutes before saying, "Texas."

"What?"

"That's where we're going. The Fort Hood army base in Texas." He shook his head. "Jesus, can you even _imagine_ me in Texas? The closest I've ever come to being a cowboy was that number we did with April Rhodes last year."

Kurt laughed. "You're not driving into the middle of a movie! I'm sure there are plenty of things to do besides wrangle steers and spit tobacco. It's a big state. I'm pretty sure you won't be able to escape country music, and you have my deepest sympathies on that one, but there are always sports. They've got tons of professional teams and whenever my dad watches college sports, it seems like every other team is from Texas."

Matt perked up. "That's true."

"We will miss you in glee club next year, though."

Matt ducked his head, looking cutely shy, and Kurt smiled at the sight.

"Aw, you guys will be fine without me," he scoffed. "I'll bet after making it to Regionals last year, you'll have a ton of new kids wanting to sign up for Glee."

"Think so?"

"Sure."

They were silent for a few more minutes; Kurt watching in fascination as the quiet boy systematically demolished the large pile of fries.

Uncertain whether he should offer, Kurt took a deep breath and said, "I could text you, or maybe email some time, if you wanted." He looked down. "It's okay if you don't. I mean, you already have Mike and Mercedes to keep you in the loop."

Matt grinned, revealing a row of brilliant white teeth. "Are you kidding? That'd be great!"

"I-it would?"

The other boy blushed. "Guess that sounds weird when we never talked in school. I'm sorry about that. I always wanted to."

Kurt gaped at him. "You did?"

Matt shrugged. "Sure. I mean you seemed really cool, with the attitude and the snappy one liners whenever anyone gave you shit." He sounded a little embarrassed. "You have no idea how much I wished I could do that. I can never think of a good comeback until it's too late."

"Then why?" Kurt asked, genuinely curious. "I just assumed you didn't like me very much. Was it because you didn't want to be seen with the gay guy?"

Matt actually looked insulted. "No way, man! My little brother is gay, or at least I'm pretty sure he is. I'm the last person who'd avoid you over something like that."

"Wow, startling revelations right and left!" Kurt said with a smirk. "I didn't even know you had a brother. How old is he?"

"Eleven," he replied. "Too young for a date, if that's what you were hoping. Sorry."

Kurt laughed. "Darn, why do the good ones always have to be straight, married or jailbait?"

To his great pleasure, Matt laughed along with the quip. "I guess I just figured you wouldn't want to talk to me, so I didn't bother," he admitted. "You didn't like football, I don't know squat about fashion, you sing, I dance, you get straight A's, I scratch by with C's . . . I mean, what do we have in common?"

"Maybe nothing," Kurt told him, "or maybe a whole lot of other stuff that's just never come up yet."

Matt smiled. "I like that."

"Can I borrow your phone?" Matt handed it over and Kurt scrolled the contacts, adding his name, number and email to the list. "There. Now you can reach me whenever you want to."

Matt shook his head. "Only I would wait to make friends with somebody I've known for a year, five days before I'm due to leave town."

"Better late than never, right?" Kurt replied. "Just remember this when you start your new school and try to open your mouth every now and then."

"I'll try," he chuckled.

Kurt looked him in the eye, suddenly serious. "And, assuming you're right about him, if your little brother ever needs somebody to talk to who understands what he's going through feel free to share my number, okay?"

Matt did not answer beyond a nod, but the look in his eyes at that offer was enough to make Kurt glad that he had made it. Something told him that he had just sealed the deal on his offer of friendship. They would not become one of those pairs who promised to "keep in touch" and then never spoke to each other again.

Kurt's phone rang and he checked the caller ID. "Hey, Dad. Okay, we'll be right there." Disconnecting, he told Matt, "Your mom's car is ready."

The other boy checked his watch. "Wow, your dad works fast! I guess I'd better get going." He flashed another one of those brilliant white smiles as they exited their booth and walked toward the door. "I'm having a farewell party this Saturday. Want to come? Mike, Finn, and a few of the others are coming."

"Sure." Then he grimaced. "Though, I guess a lot of your teammates from the football and baseball teams will be there, too, won't they?"

"Yeah, but none of the dick-heads."

Kurt laughed at the matter-of-fact statement. "Who says you can't make snappy comebacks?"

Looking a little surprised, Matt laughed along.

The end of an acquaintanceship was starting to look like the beginning to a very promising friendship.


	4. Becky: Anyone Seen an Abomination?

**A little piece of the Burt-going-ballistic speech from "Theatricality" leads me to believe that Kurt has probably become pretty good friends with Becky Jackson, and that Burt has met her. I like Becky and I hope I have done her justice. : )**

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After talking to Mister Schuester – Coach was right about not trusting a man with curly hair. Who forgets to buy chocolate on _Halloween_? – Becky was suddenly curious about the play that his glee club was working on. She knew many of the kids were still at school; she had seen them moving set pieces through the hallway from the Art department to the auditorium just a short while ago, so she decided to check it out for herself.

She was curious to find out what, exactly, an abomination was supposed to look like.

The auditorium door was open. Creeping quietly up the aisle, Becky stood just out of the circle of light shining down from the stage and watched. A soft giggle escaped when she caught sight of Quinn Fabray and Santana Lopez, both wearing short maid uniforms and gigantic curly wigs, yelling at each over who should get to sing lead in something called, "The Time Warp". That sounded interesting. She wished they would just quit arguing and sing it.

No such luck. It looked more like they might start brawling across the middle of the stage at any moment.

Boring! She could see _that_ any day at Cheerios practice.

Moving on, Becky caught sight of that super tall boy who had embarrassed himself so badly during cheer try-outs last month. He was standing off to one side of the stage running lines with a short, slightly insane looking girl who kept clutching his arm and chirping, "Oh! Brad!"

Again, boring!

She could see a few more people, the only one she knew by name was Artie Abrams, working on sets. They were laughing together as they hammered and painted and Becky smiled. That looked like fun!

Still no sight of anything that might be the abomination, though. Coach had said that meant something so full of horror that a person could barely stand to look at it. All Becky saw were kids in costumes and smears of wet paint.

Maybe they were keeping it backstage.

Sneaking past the busy glee clubbers was easy. _Much_ easier than it should have been while dressed in a bright red track suit and holding a bullhorn in one hand and a large plastic jack-o-lantern in the other. No wonder Coach found them so easy to spy on!

Backstage was darker and quieter, a little creepy in its stillness. Becky walked forward with tiny careful steps. If something tried to jump out at her from the shadows, she would bash it and run.

After a few seconds, nothing had happened and the girl pouted in disappointment.

Then her foot bumped into something, and it moved! She gasped and jumped back, realizing that the dark mound of cloth she had mistaken for a misplaced curtain was actually a person.

Or maybe not a person at all! When the top of the cloth was pulled back, it suddenly revealed a head covered by pale, pale skin and long, scraggly, whitish-blond hair.

The creature squinted up at her with sunken, dark rimmed eyes and she jumped back with a frightened squeal, swinging her plastic jack-o-lantern with all her might, bashing it right in the face, and bringing forth a sharp and decidedly human yelp of pain.

"_OW_! Becky! What are you doing back here? And what'd you hit me for?"

She gasped, recognizing the voice of a friend in the bizarre-looking stranger now sitting upright on the floor and rubbing his abused cheekbone with one hand as he glared up at her. "Kurt? Is that you?"

"Who did you think it was?" he replied grumpily.

"Wow," she said, plopping down next to him and staring with wide open mouth and eyes. Kurt Hummel was one of the nicest boys in school. He had always talked to her at Cheerios practice but never talked down or made her feel dumb, the way a lot of other people did. He was also, normally, one of the most beautiful boys she had ever met, with his pretty clothes and perfect skin and hair. And just look what those terrible people had done to him! Destroyed his beauty and then stowed him away backstage, all alone, where they would not have to look at him! Anger rose up in Becky's heart. Coach had been right, as usual. "You're the abomination!"

Kurt looked distinctly hurt by those words. "Excuse me? Why would you say a thing like that?"

"I'm sorry." She shook her head, blinking back tears. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Kurt. Why did the glee-club do this to you? You look terrible!"

Perplexed, Kurt automatically moved to run a hand through his hair, looking startled when he touched smooth latex instead. "Oh, you mean this? It's just my costume for the play we're performing. I'm playing Riff Raff, the mysterious butler who works for the main character, who is kind of a mad scientist. It's not real."

Doubtfully, Becky squinted at him, flinching a little when he picked up her hand and drew it up to poke at the top of his head. It gave a little, and felt like . . . rubber or something.

"It's fake," she said, relief filling her voice.

He burst out laughing. "Guess this must be a pretty convincing costume if you didn't recognize me right away!"

Becky smiled. She knew the difference between someone laughing at her and someone inviting her to share a joke with them. This was definitely the latter. "It's great. You really scared me, Kurt!"

"Well, don't worry. The day I shave my head for a school play is the day Coach Sylvester decides to permanently give up track suits!" Reaching around to the back of his head, he pulled the wig forward, popping it and the bald cap that went with it off his head, revealing thick, messy brown locks and a few patches of sticky broken latex makeup on his forehead. "Better?"

The girl grinned. "Much better." Looking closely at his face, she bit her lip. It did not appear that all of the shadows under his eyes were caused by makeup. Lightly touching his face, she said, "You look really tired? Is that why you were back here by yourself?"

He ducked his head, seeming a little embarrassed. "They didn't need me to rehearse the last couple of scenes and when I came backstage I noticed that somebody had left the pads and drapery from Frankenfurter's operating table back here. It was so dark and quiet that I couldn't resist a quick nap." He rolled his neck, wincing when a couple of vertebrae crunched. "Things have been a little hectic at home, lately."

"Cause your dad is sick," she said, nodding and shifting a bit closer. She slipped an arm around his waist, just in case he needed somebody to lean on. That's what always made her feel better when she was sad. "Coach said she gave you a leave of absence to take care of him."

Kurt smiled and gave in to the lure of a friendly hug. "That's funny. Because I'm pretty sure I told her I was quitting the squad."

"You're on until Coach throws you off."

"Or you die," he finished with her, laughing at the words as he sat back, pulling one knee up to lace his fingers over it. "Rule number one. How could I forget?"

Becky smiled. "I hope your dad gets well soon, and that you come back to Cheerios. I miss you."

Kurt picked up her hand and kissed the back of it, making her giggle. "Thanks, B. I miss you, too, but I can't make that decision right now." Changing the subject, he picked up her plastic bucket and jiggled it, making the candy inside shift. "Feels like you're doing pretty well here. I assume this is from the 'Take Back the Night' event?"

She nodded, smiling brightly as she scrambled to her feet and posed with her borrowed bullhorn on one hip. "I'm Coach! Could you tell?"

"Of course. Why do you think I was so scared when I woke up and saw you standing over me?" he quipped, striking a terrified pose and making her laugh. Hefting the lightweight jack-o-lantern again, he smiled. "Guess I'm lucky you smacked me with this and not the bullhorn. I'd probably still be unconscious!"

Feeling a little bit bad about that, Becky winced. Then she gasped and grabbed him by the arm, tugging the boy to his feet. "I have a great idea! You already have a costume, so why don't you go Trick or Treating with me?"

Kurt looked down, brushing himself off. "That sounds fun, but I really shouldn't. This costume is for the play and I don't want everyone to see it yet. Besides, I'm not part of your club."

"You can be my guest, it's okay." She thought for a moment then asked, "Do you still have your Cheerios uniform?"

"It's in my locker. I tried to return it, but Coach Sylvester told me to hang onto it until she told me otherwise. I tried to argue but," he shrugged. "It was Sue Sylvester."

She giggled, stopping him as he made to reach up and begin taming his wildly disarranged hair. "Leave your hair and makeup like that and go put on your uniform. I'm Coach, so you can be the last Cheerio to make me mad."

Tickled by this idea, he started laughing. "Becky, you're a genius."

"I know," she said smugly.

"Mind if I share your bucket? I wasn't expecting to Trick or Treat so I didn't bring one."

She nodded. "Okay. Don't bother visiting Mister Schuester, though. He didn't buy any candy."

Kurt grinned at the expression on her face. "He can be a little absent-minded sometimes. All right, let me go change clothes and return these ones to Props and we'll get going."

Putting down her bullhorn, Becky threw both arms around his waist. "I'm so glad you're coming! Now we'll get twice as much candy!"

He hugged back. "Tell you what. I'll let you keep my share, as thanks for inviting me. I think I could really use a little Trick or Treating. I haven't done it in years."

Becky grinned. "When my mom comes, she's going to take pictures of the club. I'll ask her take a picture of you, too, for your dad. He's really nice and maybe seeing you have fun will make him feel better!"

Kurt looked down at her, surprise and some other expression Becky could not figure out chasing across his features. For a moment, she was worried that he might cry, but then the strange look faded back into a smile. "You're right. He practically ordered me to do this play, in spite of the extra time it would take to get everything ready. He says he's doing better and that I need to have fun and stop worrying about him all the time."

"I think so, too," she declared firmly, taking him by the hand and leading him out from behind the dark curtain and onto the stage. The others looked surprised to see them.

The short girl in the pink dress said, "Kurt, I thought you'd gone home already."

He smiled and draped his arm around Becky. "Nope. I was just backstage, waiting for my date to come pick me up."

"We're going Trick or Treating," Becky told them, puffing up a little. Everybody knew that Kurt was gay but she had always had a little crush on him and hearing him phrase their upcoming adventure as a date thrilled her.

"Cool," the tall boy said, flashing them a lopsided smile and adjusting the thick glasses he wore on his face. "Have fun!"

Kurt nodded, then smiled at Becky. "I think we will."

As they walked out of the auditorium together, Becky caught another glimpse of Quinn in her humongous wig and asked, "What's the Time Warp?"

A gleam of enthusiasm lit Kurt's eyes, making them look almost maniacal against the exaggerated stage makeup he wore. "It's a song from the show; a really great song; has its own dance and everything. I'll tell you what. If you want, after we're all finished Trick or Treating, I'll show you and the rest of the club how to do it."

Becky beamed at him. She had not found anything horror-inducing in the glee club, and she had not got any chocolate from their advisor, but in spite of those minor disappointments this was suddenly shaping up to become the best Halloween ever!


	5. Artie: Live and Learn

**Had a little trouble with Artie because he seems like such a different person this season than last. So self-centered! This turned out to be basically just a conversational back and forth.**

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"Why the long face? Roll over your favorite video game cartridge this morning?"

Artie looked up from the book in his lap at the acerbic comment. He had not actually been reading, just flipping the pages back and forth as he sulked, and he had obviously not realized anyone was close enough to notice. "Oh, hey, Kurt."

The fashionable boy's eyebrow rose at the dull response. The outdoor lunch tables were all empty, November days in Ohio not being exactly conducive to sunbathing, but Artie was sitting outside all by himself with an untouched lunch tray and an English textbook. Kurt would never have known the other boy was out here if he had not chosen to cut out the back of the lunch room and across the courtyard, taking the long way to his next class over walking past a group of sniggering jocks who appeared to be waiting on their next victim.

A brisk gust of wind made Kurt shiver. Artie was wearing a thick coat and an enviously warm-looking scarf, but _he _had not planned to be outside for more than a few seconds and was only protected by a dress shirt and fashionable but light-weight blue sweater. Just the same, the dejected expression on Artie's face made him sit down on the closest bench. "Okay, we've still got about fifteen minutes before the bell rings. Let's have it. Tell Dr. Kurt your troubles."

A tiny smile darted across Artie's lips. "Doctor, huh? Is that how you afford all those clothes?"

"Of course, but I suppose we can consider this consultation to be pro bono," he snarked back. "As long as you give me good word of mouth around the school. I need to build up my practice to support the new Marc Jacobs winter collection."

Artie could not help but laugh at the dead-serious expression on his face. Kurt's blue eyes sparkled, though, looking at once welcoming and sympathetic to his troubles, whatever they might be. After a moment Artie tapped his fingers against the book and then closed it. "Football's not working out."

Kurt's brow wrinkled. "It's not? I thought you'd won their last three games for them. Doesn't that make you the local hero? Your human battering ram act is supposedly the best thing to hit this school's athletic department since jocks discovered Slushies."

He shrugged. "It's not like I'm actually _doing_ anything. Basically, one of the other guys catches the ball, passes it to me and pushes me down the field while I guard it. None of the opposing players can figure out how to tackle a wheelchair, or if they should even try, so every time we use that play we get a touchdown."

Kurt nodded. "And you feel like you're cheating, or as if they're letting you win because you can't play the same way everyone else does. I must admit, I never had that problem. After that first game, it was all the same to me whether our team scored or not. The only thing I cared about was kicking the ball on target and hoping nobody decided to flatten me while they had the chance."

"You didn't get the chance to kick very often anyway, considering how seldom McKinley actually got enough yards for a field goal opportunity. What'd you do with all your free time; watch Finn?" Artie asked, grinning when Kurt's cheeks flushed and his features stiffened. "It's okay. I figured that's why you stayed on the team as long as you did."

"It wasn't only that," he protested. "I really wanted to learn as much as I could and to do well for Dad. I still don't really like the game, but you have no idea how much it helped the two of us to have something more or less in common during those first few weeks after I came out to him."

Artie pondered that for a moment. "So, you kind of did the same thing I did. Tried football as a way to impress somebody else."

Understanding his meaning at once, Kurt asked, "You did it for Tina, didn't you? So she'd dump Mike Chang."

A blush heated his cheeks as he looked anywhere but at Kurt. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. She likes guys with abs."

"She likes guys who treat her as if she's more important than a video game," Kurt said bluntly. "Come on, Artie, don't you remember during Madonna week last year when Mr. Shue had all of the guys sing 'What it Feels Like For a Girl'? You'd been objectifying Tina, treating her like she wasn't good enough for you unless she changed herself to suit you. It didn't work, did it?"

He shook his head, mumbling, "No."

"And now you're doing it again, only in reverse. You're trying to change your appearance and reputation to suit her, without addressing the underlying issue."

A little resentfully, Artie said, "Which is?"

"You don't respect her," Kurt told him bluntly. "You don't respect most girls, in fact. Oh, don't deny it. I've heard some of the things you've said about Santana's boob job and Brittany's butt. And you weren't even with them."

Artie's shoulders shifted uncomfortably against the back of his chair. "I was with Brittany."

"For the duet competition, you mean? I know. Why did you guys call that off, by the way? You would have sounded great together."

Quietly, shamefully, Artie told him the story about Brittany fighting with Santana and using him for meaningless sex. Kurt's eyes got wider as the story went on.

"Wow, and I thought I was clueless when it came to dating girls. That's pathetic."

"Hey!" Artie objected, clearly having been expecting sympathy, not insults. "You're supposed to be on my side!"

"Why?" Kurt asked incredulously. "Because of some ridiculously outdated 'bros before hos' credo? In case you've forgotten, I spend more time with the female side of our happy little group than I do the male. Brit has been miserable for the past week because of you. Well, you and Santana. She didn't deserve getting dumped just for giving you what she gives to pretty much every guy at this school as a token of friendship. Sure, maybe you had plans to give your virginity to Tina or some other girl you loved, somewhere down the line, but did you tell her that?"

Artie frowned. "Well . . . no. I mean, nobody ever offered before and, um."

"And who are you to turn down every straight teenage guy's fantasy?" Kurt said dryly. "Proving my point. You were just as willing to accept what she offered as any other guy, and this is Brittany we're talking about. She's sweet but she's not the most intuitive person. If you never tried to stop her, she had no reason to think you wanted to. After all, she made out with me and would have very happily gone all the way if I hadn't stopped her. I didn't want to, so she didn't try to force it. You really hurt her feelings when you yelled at her, especially since you were using her to get back at Tina."

A bit guiltily, he asked, "How do you know that?"

"That you hurt her? I know because Brit keeps sitting next to me in Glee and petting my hands. She has some weird fetish for the softness of my skin. Don't ask," he said flatly. "If you mean how did I know that you were trying to get back at Tina by dating Brit, it's because I'm neither blind nor a complete dumb-ass, unlike some guys I could name."

Artie bristled under the pointed stare and disdainfully lifted eyebrow.

Kurt smiled at the look on his face. "You think I'm talking about just you? I'm not. Like I said, Artie, I've been where you are. Last year, I used Brittany to make myself look and feel more like the stereotypical guys-guy; the kind who dates cheerleaders and sneaks sex with girls into the house under their parents' noses. Brittany offered because she thought I had gone straight. I accepted because I wanted my dad to see me as a more worthy son. I did wrong by both of them, and I've since apologized for it. I'm lucky in that they both forgave me, understanding that I was doing the wrong thing for the right reason, but that doesn't make my actions right."

A deep sigh gusted from Artie's lungs. "Tina tried to be friends with me again. She even offered to join me for the duets project, and I blew her off," he admitted. "I wanted to rub her nose in the fact that I was a popular football player and one of the cheerleaders wanted me."

Kurt just nodded. "And now?"

"Now neither one of the girls is talking to me, I'm miserable and lonely, _and_ I'm stuck playing football for another six weeks. I don't even like football!"

Kurt gave him a pat on the shoulder. "They say that recognizing and admitting that you have a problem is the first step in solving it. Maybe you should corner the girls after Glee this afternoon and tell them what you told me. If Tina is really in love with Mike, you won't get her back as a girlfriend, but you might just build some bridges back toward being friends with her again."

"It's a start," he said, a smile breaking through the gloom. "And Brittany?"

"The nice thing about Brit is that she doesn't hold a grudge, especially when you admit to having done something stupid. Just talk to her, and a little groveling in the form of ice cream sundaes and stuffed animals wouldn't go amiss either."

Artie grinned. "Thanks, Kurt. I mean that. You don't pull your punches but you make a lot of sense."

"Tough love, my friend," he fired back with a sassy toss of his windblown brown locks. "Now, can we go inside? I need to thaw out for a few minutes before I can be expected to recall fifteen pages worth of European history for the test I'm taking next period."

He shivered and a startled look came over Artie's face. Unwinding the heavy brown knit scarf he wore around his neck, he threw it around Kurt's. "Oh, my God, why didn't you say something? You must be freezing!"

Kurt snuggled gratefully into the warmth of the thick scarf, tucking the ends inside his cardigan as he stood up and walked beside Artie's chair into the welcome warmth of the school building. "Maybe I'll come watch you play this Friday," he offered, shivering again at the change in temperature. Artie did the same, blowing into his gloved hands before wheeling down the hall towards his locker. "You have a home game this week, right?"

Artie nodded. "Right, but I thought you didn't like football."

"Dad does and his doctor just okayed him to do normal activities again. Advised him to get more fresh air, in fact, and I'm sure he'd enjoy it if the two of us went to the game together. He can cheer for Finn and I'll cheer for you, even if all you do is play Transformers with the football." He shrugged, reluctantly handing back the borrowed scarf as Artie opened his locker.

"Hang onto it," Artie said, pushing the garment back and smiling when Kurt immediately draped the scarf back into place, not even bothering to argue about the shade of brown clashing with his blue and white, or whatever. "Least I can do after turning you into an ice cube while you listened to my troubles. And yeah, if you don't mind coming, it'd be cool to know you were up there cheering me on. Thanks, Kurt."

Kurt just smiled and glanced down at his newly accessorized outfit. "You know, I may change my mind about charging you for my good advice and steal this. It goes very well with this outfit."

Artie laughed. "I'll ask my mom to knit you one."

"Really?" he said, interest lighting his eyes. "Does she do sweaters? Because I saw an absolutely gorgeous shade of soft burgundy yarn at the craft store the other day. I could just picture the way it would compliment my coloring if I paired it up with the right pants and accent pieces, but unfortunately I don't know how to knit."

He shrugged. "She does sweaters for Christmas gifts, and she did some of my vests. Come home with me after school today and you can ask her yourself. You'd have to buy the yarn, though."

"Of course!" he said, scandalized that Artie would think otherwise. "And I'll pay her for her time, don't worry about that."

As they chatted, they caught sight of Tina just turning into the hallway from the direction of the cafeteria. The poor girl was coated from the top of her head to the middle of her chest in purple slushie.

"Animals," Kurt grumbled, then louder, "Tina, you poor thing! Here, come with us and we'll get you cleaned up."

"Th-th-thanks," she said, the cold making her teeth chatter and reminding both boys immediately of the days when Tina had faked a stutter. "I'm f-f-freezing!"

Kurt steered them into the girl's bathroom, paying no mind to Artie's squawk of protest, and turned on the hot water before pulling a ready-made clean up kit out of his messenger bag.

The first bell rang and Kurt glanced up. "Artie has study hall this period, so he'll get you fixed right up. I can't miss this history test." Tina nodded, concentrating on washing the corn syrup out of her eyes and Kurt shot an encouraging look at Artie as he added, "Artie had something he wanted to talk to you about anyway. Right, Artie?"

"Pushy much?" Artie shot back, then smiled at the confused look on Tina's face and said, "Yeah, he's right. I guess I've been acting like kind of a jerk lately and I wanted to tell you . . ."

The bathroom door closed on their conversation and Kurt grinned to himself, brushing his hair into place with his hands as he hurried off to History. Maybe he should consider psychology as a fall back position, just in case Broadway stardom did not pan out.

Oh, who was he kidding?

He could totally do both!


	6. Brad: To Forget About Life For a While

**You will notice that there is no dialogue in this one. I thought it might be more interesting to see these two interact via Brad's chosen conversational method. This chapter, again, is a little sad.**

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Brad paused with his hand on the music room door, taken aback as he heard the sound of someone else playing his piano. Not that it was really _his_, technically the piano was the property of WMHS, but as far as he knew he was the only one who ever touched the instrument beyond someone practicing a few easy warm-ups.

What he was hearing now was no tentative picking out of scales. It was a rather complicated melody with a full and intricate harmony. Something Classical perhaps? He did not recognize the tune, and some days he thought he must know every song ever written in the genres of Pop, Rock and Broadway by now.

Pushing the door open a little farther, he slipped inside the room unnoticed, and simply observed.

It was Kurt Hummel who was producing this strange and beautiful song. Brad was surprised, never having been aware that he knew how to play before. The boy sat with his eyes closed; swaying slightly on the bench as his hands lightly caressed the worn black and white keys.

After listening for a few moments, Brad realized why he had not recognized the song. Kurt was not playing something from the radio or some practice book. He was playing free-form, putting whatever he was feeling into the music, letting his hands wander along personal pathways and give expression to the emotions inside of him.

Brad nodded. This was something he had done a few times himself, when he could find no other way to express himself. There was never any writing down of notes or attempts to preserve the song via some recording device for later development; it was just playing freely and allowing music to express him better than words ever could.

For a moment, he thought about leaving, knowing that he was intruding on something very personal. But he found that he could not. The music was sweet and poignant and so filled with sadness that it brought a deep ache to his chest.

No one should be left all alone with such pain.

Eventually, the melody slowed, stuttered, hit a discordant bump that brought it to a sudden and ungraceful end and Brad realized that the boy was crying. He came closer and sat down on the piano bench, touching Kurt's shoulder and silently drawing the distraught musician into an embrace.

Kurt stiffened in his grasp, startled and probably a little mortified to realize that he had had an audience, but when Brad did not let go right away he gave in to the comfort represented by that warm, empathetic touch and fell forward.

The boy did not sob or scream or weep stormily as some would have. He simply held tight, allowing hot tears to soak into the dark material of Brad's jacket as the man cradled him in warm, strong arms, lightly stroking the back of his head with one hand.

After a few minutes, Kurt pulled away. He nodded thanks when Brad pulled a clean handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and offered it. Blotting away the remains of his tears, Kurt tried to hand it back but Brad waved a refusal and just put his hands to the keys.

He wished he had the perfect words of comfort to offer, or a magic key to unlocking the boy's troubles, but somehow he felt sure that platitudes would only frustrate and that attempting to make Kurt talk about his troubles would only be both awkward and embarrassing for them both.

So instead, he played.

Kurt smiled slightly when he began the opening bars to, "Sad Song Say So Much", then gave him an inquiring look.

Putting his slender, graceful hands on the keys, Kurt hesitated and then played the chorus of Heart's, "Alone".

Brad shook his head. Kurt actually snorted when he recognized the cheery chords of, "You've Got a Friend in Me".

They played back and forth for more than half an hour, never saying a word, but having a meaningful conversation just the same. Brad nodded as he listened to what could only be described as a venomously sarcastic rendition of the Sesame Street classic, "I Love Trash".

A grimace flickered over Brad's lips. He had seen the way some of Kurt's classmates treated him, even some that he now thought of as friends, and had heard rumors of the more violent actions by some of the football and hockey players.

Considering this, he decided to respond with, "It Gets Better", a newer song that he felt sure this boy would recognize and understand. Kurt nodded, pausing to blow his nose against the borrowed handkerchief and taking a deep breath. Brad could almost see him resurrecting the inner walls that kept him strong against the daily torments he faced.

He had been there, in his own younger days, constantly picked on and harassed for being too quiet and for being 'musical' and 'sensitive', which were literally true but had been thrown at him as euphemisms representing everything those people did not approve of.

Pausing to think for a moment, he switched over to another song, playing a powerful chorus of Christina Aguilera's "Fighter", knowing that Kurt would understand his message.

The boy was much calmer now than when Brad had first found him and he responded with a light rendition of, "I Will Survive."

Brad chuckled. He had no doubt of that.

The last class bell rang, reminding Brad that he had not practiced the music he had originally come in to set up for glee club.

Not that he regretted the past hour. He wondered if Kurt had skipped his final class of the day to spend time alone in the music room. Certainly, the boy appeared a little guilty as he jumped up from the bench and moved over to take one of the empty seats in the student section.

Kurt looked back at him as other kids began to file into the room, chattering about this and that.

Sneaking a glance around to make sure nobody was paying attention; Brad met Kurt's eyes and softly played him one more song. He could not carry a tune with his voice. Regretably, his singing possessed all the beauty of a rusty hinge, but he did his best to mentally project the lyrics to the boy on the risers as he played. _Whenever you call me, I'll be there. Whenever you want me, I'll be there. Whenever you need me, I'll be there. I'll be around._

As Will Schuester bustled into the room, filled with his usual energy and enthusiasm, and began directing the class to think about their latest project, Kurt flashed the pianist a soft smile and silently mouthed the words, "Thank you."


	7. Brittany: A Different Point of View

**Based around "Never Been Kissed". It struck me as odd that Kurt would be so quick to take support and advice from a new friend but more or less shun the comfort offered by the old ones. My conclusion? He didn't. (Just ignore that in "The Substitute" Kurt tells Karofsky that he hasn't revealed the kiss to anyone.) : )**

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"You look sad."

Kurt glanced up at the soft comment, trying and failing to offer a smile as Brittany sat down beside him on the stone steps leading to the front entrance of WMHS. He had intended to go home, only to find himself running out of energy halfway down the stairs. So instead he had just sat, staring off into the blankness of the cloudy gray sky for who knew how long. He had not even noticed Brittany until she spoke.

"I guess I am," he said softly.

Brittany sat down on the step next to him and snuggled close, lacing her fingers through his and laying her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry you're sad," she said gently. "I'll be sad with you until you feel better."

A little of the heartache ebbed away as he rested his temple against the top of her head. Anyone else would have demanded a reason for his dejected mood or made some well-meaning but unwelcome effort to cheer him up. Brittany, by doing neither of those things, actually _had_ managed to make him feel a little bit better.

"Things just haven't exactly been going my way lately," he found himself explaining. He felt her nod and continued, "I've been feeling so stressed out by everything in my life that I feel as if I'm going to snap if even one more bad thing happens."

Brittany lifted her head and looked at him curiously. "Did something really bad happen today?"

A little startled by the perceptive question, he stared into her eyes for a few seconds. He had not intended to tell anyone about the events in the locker room, but suddenly he desperately wanted to. "If I tell you something, can you keep it secret for me? You can't tell anyone what I tell you, Brit. Not even Santana."

"Will it be okay if I just tell Sprinkles?"

He smiled, just a little. "You can tell your cat, but only if nobody else is around to overhear you."

She nodded and snuggled back into his side again. "I promise. Sometimes I don't tell people about stuff either."

Curiosity piqued, he almost asked for details but realized quickly that he would be defeating his own purpose. "David Karofsky," he began, gulping back sudden tears at the mere mention of the boy's name. "He's been making my life hell for the last two years. He shoves me, slushies me, throws me into lockers . . . and lately it's been happening almost every day."

"That's terrible," she said quietly, startling him a little when she moved to plant a soft kiss against his neck before settling back into her former position. "Next time, you should kick him."

The matter-of-fact statement brought forth a choked laugh. "That might have been the smarter thing to do, actually, but when he slammed me into my locker today I tried talking to him instead. I have a friend from another school who suggested that I confront Karofsky. You know, stand up to him and try to find out why he's always harassing me?"

Brittany blinked up at him. "Was it because he wants your clothes?"

"What?"

"I've never seen him wear anything except his letterman jacket and jeans," she clarified. "I don't think he knows how to buy clothes."

Coming from a girl who never wore anything but her cheerleading uniform, Kurt could not keep the smirk off his lips. "Maybe that's part of it, but it turned out to be a lot more." He took a deep breath, not sure he could bring himself to say the words, but Brittany continued to wait patiently for an answer and he finally had to give her one. "He kissed me."

A little frown wrinkled her brow as she straightened up and said, "David likes boys?"

"I think _likes_ might be a little strong, but apparently he's attracted to boys, or at least to me. He's just too much of a homophobic, closet-case bully to express his feelings like a normal human being," he replied bitterly. The choked feeling was back as he whispered, "He stole my first kiss."

Brittany sounded as sad as Kurt felt as she murmured, "I thought I was your first kiss."

Startled out of his self-pity, he looked into her eyes. "Oh, Brit, I'm sorry. Of course you were. You were my first kiss and I'm really glad of that because you made it special. It's just, you're a girl and I'm…"

"Capital G," she said, smiling again. He nodded, snuffling and dashing at his nose when the traitorous tears began threatening again simply from the fond understanding in her tone. "David was your first boy-kiss and not a very good one."

There was no doubt in that statement, not even the odd questioning note that typically followed her peculiar and uniquely adorable comments. Brittany was stating a simple fact and for some strange reason it calmed the feeling of horror that had been writhing in Kurt's gut for the past two hours. "How did you know that?"

"Been there," she sing-songed.

Kurt squeaked in startled offense when Brittany suddenly leaned forward and pulled the neck of his loose designer tee away from his collar and took a peek at his bare chest. "What are you doing?" he demanded, clutching the shirt tight against his body.

"Looking for bruises," she said evenly. "I forgot you don't have any boobs."

The squirmy feeling came back, along with a rush of outrage. "Did Karofsky hurt you?"

"Not really. Some guys just don't know how to check for ripe melons without bruising the produce," she said, sounding so much more like Santana Lopez than herself that Kurt was certain that he was hearing a direct quote. "I'm not surprised to find out he's a little 'g', though."

She held out her index finger and made a limp gesture that drew an involuntary laugh from Kurt. Then the humor faded and he shivered. What if that brute had reacted to kissing _him _in a way he had not reacted to Brittany? The thought made him feel a little queasy, suddenly wondering if Karofsky was one of those guys who secretly got off on his own violence. And now that Kurt knew he was into guys, what if that violence started getting even worse!

It made his head spin and his gut churn.

"I was right, huh?"

Kurt looked up, realizing that Brittany was still talking. "Right about what?"

"Burgers and dip."

He had been trying really hard not to recall the details of that shocking kiss, but as she said the words he realized that she was right. "Yeah, kind of. It was pretty gross."

"You taste like mint and you smell kind of like cookies."

He barked a short laugh. "I do?"

Brittany leaned close and inhaled deeply. "Sweet, spicy and warm. It makes me want to lick you."

"Don't," he said, squeaking a little when she nuzzled his jaw.

"Okay," she agreed, backing off with a disappointed expression. "I bet that's why David kissed you. He looks like somebody who eats a lot of cookies."

Kurt laughed, finding her goofy explanation far more appealing than his own worried speculations.

"You're not sad anymore," she said, smiling happily.

"I'm a little sad," he admitted, "but you made me feel better."

She studied his face for a few seconds, her gaze serious and probing, almost as if she was searching for something. Kurt could not help squirming a little under her intense scrutiny but just as he was on the verge of asking, she finally spoke again.

"I know you said it's a secret, and I promise you I won't tell anybody, but maybe _you_ should tell somebody else. When I'm really sad, I spend time with lots of different people, doing happy things together, and every person takes away a little piece of the bad feeling until I don't feel that way anymore."

Kurt bit his lip. It sounded so easy when she put it that way. Then again, he _had _been debating about whether or not to tell Blaine about today. He barely knew the other boy, but already found himself yearning toward the safety and understanding that he had felt in the presence of the first gay male friend he had ever made. Following Blaine's advice had not proven to be all that he had hoped for, but maybe the other boy would have another idea for what his next step should be. Or maybe he would simply understand how Kurt felt, yet again. It made him feel almost guilty to recall the warm tingly feeling he had experienced at hearing the words, "I've been where you are."

"Maybe you're right," he said, squeezing Brittany's hand. "Thanks for listening to me, Brit, I really appreciate it."

She grinned brightly. "You're welcome." Suddenly, her eyes widened and Kurt could just about see the idea light bulb pop on over her head. "Hey, I should kiss you again!"

"What? Why?"

"If you have a nice kiss today, then maybe you won't think so much about the bad one anymore. Can I?"

Kurt seriously doubted that anything could totally drive the memory of that rough, unwanted touch from his lips, but the simple fact that she had asked his permission made him want to allow it. "You do realize that I'm still gay, right?"

She nodded. "I know, but I don't mind if you don't."

He could not help but smile at that. "Okay, then."

Opening her bag, Brittany pulled out a tube of lip gloss and carefully applied it. "It's cherry," she said, "because you didn't like root beer."

Kurt was touched by this further show of consideration. He couldn't help stiffening up when Brittany gently cupped his jaw in her right hand, feeling the light touch of her fingers overlaying the memory of Karofsky's thicker ones, but he did not pull away. Instead, he puckered his lips a tiny bit and kissed back against the warm, tender pressure of Brittany's mouth. There was something oddly comforting in the familiarity of her lips and the simple knowledge that she was doing this only because she was his friend and wanted to make him feel better.

As Brittany pulled back, he licked his lips and smiled at the sweet taste of cherries. "Thanks, Brit."

"I love you, Kurt."

He hugged her, knowing that she meant those words as simply and sincerely as she had spoken them. "I love you too, Boo."

Brittany smiled happily and jumped up, pulling his hand. "Give me a ride home! We'll open all the windows and sing really, really loud and make everybody look at us. It's fun!"

Warmth blossomed through Kurt's chest, driving away a bit more of the chill that had been filling his body all afternoon. It was time he went home anyway, before his dad started to worry. "That sounds like a great idea. I'll even let you pick the songs."

She squealed and broke into a run, dragging him toward the student parking lot.

Kurt laughed and jogged along. Today had been a truly horrible day but things were looking up. He felt incredibly grateful and lucky to have people like Brittany Pierce in his life. People like Blaine. When he got home, Kurt decided that he would follow Brittany's unexpectedly sound advice and give his newest friend a call.

Maybe it was time to stop pushing everyone away and trying to fight all of the battles on his own.


	8. Puck: Bro's

**Puck's actions are so often contradictory that he's a very hard character to pin down. This is set between the end of "Grilled Cheesus" and the beginning of "Duets".**

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Nurses and doctors swarmed over Burt Hummel like a hive of busy bees, checking his vitals, adjusting his meds, talking both at and around him in brisk, businesslike tones. They all seemed to have forgotten the teenager standing just outside the circle of action, clasped hands pressed tightly against his lips, large blue eyes shining with a mixture of hope and fear.

From the bed, Burt Hummel released a soft groan and shifted slightly on the mattress. The watching boy tensed, rising up on his tiptoes for a better view without even seeming to realize he was doing so. His attention was fully focused on the patient, every muscle in his body trembling.

Burt murmured something unintelligible, but the doctor nearest him smiled. Whatever he had said was apparently exactly what the man wanted to hear. After a few minutes, most of the medical team departed, leaving just one doctor and one nurse in attendance.

"Is he okay?"

The soft question seemed to startle them both, drawing attention to the boy for the first time in half an hour. "Oh, Kurt, you poor dear," the nurse said compassionately. "Come over here and see for yourself!"

She held out her hand and he shuffled forward almost timidly, looking down at his father with bright eyes. Burt blinked up at him and weakly opened his hand, which Kurt immediately grasped in both of his own, holding on tight. His father smiled slightly, giving him a small squeeze, and then closed his eyes as his face relaxed into stillness once more.

Frantically, Kurt looked at the doctor. "What happened? Is he . . ."

"Just sleeping," the man said kindly. "He's out of the coma and his brain activity seems to be normalizing. We've given him some medication that will allow him to rest comfortably. It may not have looked like it, but his body has been through a lot this week and he won't be able to stay awake for very long, especially over the next 24 to 48 hours."

"But he _is_ going to be okay?" the boy asked again desperately, clutching his father's cold hand.

The doctor smiled. "Yes. He's going to require several weeks of recovery time before resuming a normal schedule, and some medications, dietary changes and physical adjustments will be required, but I think we can expect a full recovery."

A sound that was half laugh and half sob ripped from Kurt's throat. He lifted the hand to his lips and pressed a kiss against his father's knobby knuckles, unable to speak past all of the emotions raging through him.

The professionals made a few final adjustments, murmuring to each other in unintelligible med-speak for a couple of minutes, then Nurse Nancy gently steered the reluctant young man out of the room as one of the other doctors returned with a roll-cart and some kind of scary looking medical machinery.

"The doctors just need to perform some tests, Kurt," the woman told him gently. "Don't worry. Your dad is in excellent hands and the meds we've given him will assure that he remains comfortable throughout the procedure. In fact, he'll probably sleep through the rest of tonight and into tomorrow. You should go home and get some rest yourself."

"But I . . . I want to stay with him."

She patted his arm. "I know, dear, but you'd just be in the way and you need to take care of yourself. I'm sure your dad will be much more alert and in need of company tomorrow."

Her tone was kind but firm and Kurt did not have the energy to fight, especially it was more than likely that he would lose. "You'll call me if anything happens?"

"Of course," she promised. "Go on home now and get yourself a good rest. We'll take good care of your dad."

Under any other circumstances, Kurt would have thoroughly resented the condescension, but the sweet, motherly nurse had been very good to him over the long excruciating days of his dad's coma, and he could not bring himself to be angry with her.

He sighed. "I should call Carole and some of the others; let them know what's going on."

She patted him again. "I'm sure they'd appreciate that. Good night, Kurt."

Recognizing a dismissal when he heard one, Kurt took one last long look at his peacefully sleeping father and departed. Taking a seat in the main waiting room downstairs, the only one with decent cell reception, he called the Hudson home. He ended up telling the good news to Finn instead of Carole, but the other boy was so excited that he could not bring himself to regret it. Finn assured him that he and his mom would both be down at the hospital the moment visiting hours started.

"Thanks, Finn. I, uh, I probably won't be here when you visit. The nurse kind of kicked me out and ordered me to go home for the night."

He was irritated when Finn immediately agreed that he should go get some sleep because he was starting to look a lot like a zombie. He also thoroughly resented the eagerness with which Finn seemed to be looking forward to the prospect of visiting Kurt's father without him.

Using the excuse of needing to call Mercedes, Kurt hung up abruptly. After quick calls to his best friend and to Mr. Schuester, to tell them that his father was on the road to recovery and that he, Kurt, would be taking a day off from school tomorrow to spend time here, he found himself feeling a little better. The honest joy in both of their voices had helped, though Mercedes' comment that God had been looking out for him kind of rankled.

Not feeling like talking with anyone else, Kurt sent a quick text message to rest of his friends and shut the phone off, placing it in his pocket. For a long time, he simply sat there in the waiting room, numb and exhausted and at a complete loss for what to do next.

Finally, a twinge of pain in his lower back from slumping in the awful, hard hospital chair convinced him to get to his feet and walk outside. To his complete shock, when he got there he found Noah Puckerman slouched on a bench in front of the main doors.

Puck rose when Kurt came into view, immediately slinging a muscular arm around Kurt's shoulders and steering him toward the parking lot.

"What are you doing here?"

"Got your text. I only live a couple blocks away, so I walked over," he said easily. "You been here pretty much day and night whenever you weren't at school lately, so I figured I'd swing by and make sure you didn't fall asleep and drive yourself into a ditch on the way home. Pretty sure your dad would get right out of that hospital bed and kick my ass if I allowed that to happen."

That made no sense at all, but Kurt found himself too tired and confused to fight as Puck liberated his keys and steered him into the passenger seat of his own SUV.

They buckled in and Puck started driving. "You hungry?"

"Um . . ."

Puck looked amused by the dull non-answer. "I'm just gonna take that for a yes," he said, steering into the first fast-food drive-through that he came upon and ordering burgers and a couple of large fries. He dumped the warm sack into Kurt's lap and ordered, "Dig in before it gets cold. And pass me some fries while you're in there."

Unsure why he seemed unable to fight anyone's orders right now, Kurt numbly reached into the bag and set a box of golden shoestring potatoes into the cup holder, then began nibbling from its mate. The fries were hot and salty and suddenly he could not get enough of them, scarfing down the food like a starving man.

Fifteen minutes, a box and a half of fries, and three hamburgers later, he looked up at the sound of a laugh. "Damn, you must have been starving!"

Kurt blushed hotly. They were parked in his own driveway and he had not even noticed their arrival. "Sorry. I haven't been very hungry lately. I don't even remember the last meal I had." The blush got worse as he admitted, "I think I just ate your dinner along with mine."

Puck grinned. "No sweat. You obviously needed it worse than me." Shutting off the ignition, he hopped out of the car and came around to Kurt's side, where he was gathering up the empty food containers. "Leave that shit, you can get it later. Let's go inside."

"No. I will not have the inside of my baby smelling like Big Macs for the next month."

"Have it your way," he sighed. "Just hurry it up, will you? It's cold out here."

Kurt finished his clean up duty and exited the vehicle, but hurrying seemed to be beyond his power. His energy seemed to be ebbing away a little more with every passing minute. He had been living on worry, adrenaline and black coffee for days, catching a couple of nightmare filled hours of sleep each night only when he could not stay awake any longer; spending every waking moment filled with tension and fear.

He could barely think straight anymore.

Fortunately, and bafflingly, Puck seemed to understand this. He put his arm back around Kurt's shoulders and guided him up the walk, unlocking the door and helping him inside. "Where's your bedroom?" he blurted.

"Why?" Kurt asked dully.

"Because I want to make mad, passionate love to you," Puck shot back dead-pan. Kurt's brows scrunched in confusion and he snorted, slapping him lightly upside the back of his head. "Because you need to get some sleep, you moron! And a shower. How long you been at that hospital anyway?" He sniffed delicately and made a face.

Kurt scowled. "I do _not_ stink." Puck continued to stare at him and he blushed. "Since last night, but I washed up before I went there."

Flicking a limp lock of hair that had fallen down into Kurt's eyes, Puck raised an eyebrow and gave a pitying cluck of his tongue. Then he gave in and grinned again.

"I'm just messing with you, man. You really should take a shower, though. It'll relax you and get rid of that weird antiseptic smell that seeps into anyone who spends more than ten minutes in a hospital. Trust me. My nana was in for a week last year for some old lady problems and I thought I'd never get the smell of that place off me."

As he spoke, he started to push Kurt toward the stairs, but the other boy stiffened. "No," he protested. "My room is the other way, in the basement."

"Why didn't you say so?" he scolded, turning around and following Kurt through the indicated door and down the stairs. "Wow, cool pad, dude. You got your own bathroom and everything, I see. That'll save some time."

Kurt yelped in protest when Puck manhandled him into the bathroom and turned on the shower, seeming to have every intention of stripping him down and helping.

"Get out of here!" he shouted, clutching the material of his green shirt defensively after Puck had managed to yank the thick white sweater he had been wearing with it over his head. "I do not need your help taking a shower!"

Puck just shrugged and stuck his hand under the spray. "Whatever. Water's nice and hot. I'll be back in ten minutes." He shut the door firmly, leaving Kurt staring at it in disbelief.

Scared that he might actually be serious, Kurt quickly disposed of his remaining clothing and jumped into the shower.

The water felt soothing and as Kurt scrubbed, the reality of what had just happened at the hospital suddenly washed over him. Dad was going to be okay. He was out of his coma, he was _not_ going to die and he was going to be okay! Before he knew what was happening, Kurt was leaning against the shower wall, sobbing his heart out, so thankful that he did not know any other way to express it. The pent-up emotion of ten long days slowly seeped out of him, his tears mingling with the shower spray and washing away down the drain.

Some time later, thoroughly exhausted but more relaxed than he had been in ages, Kurt shut off the water and wearily dried himself off. A sharp knock reminded him that he had company and he managed to swing a towel around his hips just as the door opened.

"Found some PJs on the trunk next to your bed," Puck said, handing them over, his probing gaze sweeping over Kurt's red face and puffy eyes. "You'll have to go commando, though. I _ain't_ sifting through your delicates."

Kurt smiled a little, grateful that this rough boy obviously knew that he had been crying but was not about to make any clumsy attempts at talking about his feelings. "Thanks. Now turn around, will you? This isn't a peep-show."

Puck grinned at the sarcastic words and left the room so he could get dressed and give himself a rudimentary bit of skin and hair care.

When Kurt walked out into the bedroom, he was somehow not surprised to find his bed covers pulled back and waiting. The soft sheets looked far too inviting to resist, so even though it was barely late enough to qualify as evening, he ignored his discomfort with Puck's presence and slid into bed, pulling the blankets into place with a tired sigh.

Blinking up at the other boy, he waited for him to leave, or at least say something. When he did neither one, Kurt sniped, "Are you planning to give me a stuffed animal and a bedtime story next, or are you all finished playing Boy Scout?"

Puck snorted and scrubbed a hand over his bristly head. "What the hell," he replied. "I've gone this far, right? And it's not like anybody's going to find out."

There was a vague threat in the words, but Kurt just shrugged and settled more comfortably onto his left side. "You think _I'm_ telling anyone about this, you're crazy. They'd think I was suffering hallucinations or something." He paused. "Actually, I'm not sure that isn't true."

Puck nodded, apparently happy with that response. Kurt was startled when instead of heading up the stairs to leave, Puck plopped down on his bed. His back settled against the wall, long jean clad legs stretching down the mattress to press against Kurt's back.

Strong fingers reached out to card through Kurt's damp hair and he stiffened. "What are you doing?"

They paused. "Don't like that?"

"I don't know. It feels kind of nice, I guess, but isn't this a little gay for you?"

Ignoring the sour tone of the question, Puck resumed the stroke. "It's brotherly," he said. "I do this for my kid sister when she can't sleep. You're kind of like a little girl sometimes; figured it'd work for you, too."

Though extremely insulted by the words, he had to admit that the action was very pleasant. It felt nice to have a warm human presence at his back after spending so much time completely alone lately. He decided to just keep his sharp tongue sheathed and enjoy this while it lasted.

"Hope this doesn't piss you off or anything," Puck said after a few seconds of silence, "but I went to Temple last week and prayed for you and your dad. I know you didn't want that, and it kinda pissed me off that you dismissed people who believe in God as losers and nutcases, but I felt bad for you and I figured it couldn't do any harm."

More shocked than he would have expected, Kurt swallowed. "That was . . . really nice of you. I'm sorry, Noah. I shouldn't have said all those things to you guys. I don't believe, but I had no right to dismiss the beliefs of others just because I was upset."

"No more than some of us had the right to act like you were doing something wrong because you don't believe," he said easily. "That was a douche move on our part, dude, and I'm sorry. I figured out where you were coming from after you sang that song for your dad."

"Really?" he said, surprised. He wanted to turn around and look at Puck, but there was something about this moment that stopped him. Not being able to see each other made it safe for Puck to talk to him without his tough-guy façade. He was just an understanding voice and a warm presence, and right now Kurt did not want to lose that. "How so?"

Puck's hand moved to his shoulder, squeezing it in a comforting grip. It felt like something his father would do and Kurt had to swallow down a fresh wave of tears at that thought.

"I turned to God when my dad walked out of my life," Puck admitted quietly. "Ma just kind of shut down after he left, and the only thing that was still important to her was her faith. Nana always said that no matter how often people came in and out of our lives, God would always be there; constant, y'know? I figured maybe He was somebody who would take care of me when nobody else would. And what you said about your dad was kind of the same thing. Your mom was gone and God, or at least church, didn't want you but your dad was always there. Your dad _is_ your faith, and that's good enough for me. I'm really glad he's gonna make it, bro."

The sincerity and understanding in Puck's voice overwhelmed Kurt's rigid emotional control and he hid his face in the pillow, hoping the tears would not invite Puck's usual scorn toward any signs of weakness.

Puck just resumed his gentle shoulder massage and started humming a song under his breath. After a few seconds, Kurt recognized it as _Imagine_.

"Why that song?" he whispered, snuffling back his tears and adjusting the pillow so that his face was not pressed against the wet spot.

He could almost hear the other boy's careless shrug.

"Dunno, it's kind of all about people putting aside their differences and being cool together, right? Just seemed to fit. Besides, I figured you must like the Beatles since you picked one of their songs to sing for your dad and all."

"_Imagine_ is actually John Lennon, not the Beatles; and doesn't singing this song go against your vow to only perform songs by Jewish artists?"

"That's only for Glee solos, and don't be a bitch. I'm trying to be nice here. Go to sleep."

Kurt smiled and closed his eyes as he heard a quiet chuckle and the resumption of Puck's soft serenade. He allowed the melody and the comforting touch to lull him, and in moments relaxed into the first restful sleep he'd had in more than a week.

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Puck studied his sleeping school mate. He had never quite decided if they qualified as friends, but right at this moment he figured they probably were. He knew that Kurt had fallen asleep. The lack of tension in his shoulder relayed that much, but Puck remained where he was for a few extra minutes just to make sure that he was going to stay that way.

The kid had had a really rough week. Even a major bad-ass like himself could be forgiven for wanting to make sure he caught a break. After all, it was no fun to pick on somebody who was too weak and tired to defend himself.

Puck grimaced, realizing that his good deed in driving the other boy's car home meant that he was effectively stranded here. He briefly considered taking that sweet ride and making it his own for the night, but nah, that would be too rotten. He was a tough guy, not an asshole, and Hummel loved that car like it was his kid or something.

Oh, well, he knew how the bus system worked. It wasn't very cool but it was better than walking.

He'd just have to do something particularly bad-ass when he got home, to make up for all this touchy feely crap that he could practically feel sucking the testosterone from his body.

Maybe he'd "borrow" Ma's car for a little while tonight. A little _Fast & Furious_ action on the streets of Lima would be just what the doctor ordered.


	9. Finn: Something Old, Something New

**Okay, I admit this chapter is more about Mercedes than it is Finn, but I thought a little brotherly advice might be just what Kurt needed after the events of "The Substitute". : )**

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"Are you and Mercedes having a fight or something? She seems really out of it and you've been, like, totally ignoring her."

Kurt looked up in surprise at Finn's question, abandoning the text he had been composing to Blaine in favor of giving the other boy his full attention. The bright happy feeling he had been experiencing as he thumb-typed his message faded into one of immediate concern. "What are you talking about? I saw her earlier and she seemed fine."

Finn gave him a look that seemed to imply that he had just spoken the stupidest words ever uttered. Kurt shifted uncomfortably, not used to being on the receiving end of such an expression.

It was lunchtime and they were sharing a table. The two of them had been working hard to push beyond their past differences, knowing that their parents growing closer meant that the odds of their becoming step-brothers at some point was significantly increasing. They had been talking more, hanging out on occassion, and slowly the stiffness that had characterized every past verbal exchange was fading into an easy camaraderie that both of them were enjoying more than they had expected to. The past pressure of Kurt's desperate crush and Finn's discomfort with him were gone now and they were slowly becoming real friends for the first time.

That did not mean that it was always easy for each of them to follow the other's thought processes.

"She and I were talking before class this morning," Finn said, shrugging off Kurt's startled look. Since when did Finn and Mercedes chat? "Dude, you blew her off a whole bunch of times last week to go do something else with a different friend. That's totally not cool."

Kurt shifted. "Don't exaggerate. It was only twice, and it was just bowling night. We do that all the time and I happened to have other plans. Mercedes understood that, and it's not as if I didn't make it up to her by taking her to dinner at Breadstix."

"As a third wheel," Finn said, spearing him with an intense look, "on your non-date with that dude from Dalton Academy."

Finn was the only person other than Mercedes whom Kurt had told about his new friendship, and only then because Finn had seen the photo in Kurt's locker and refused to stop questioning him about it until he was satisfied that Kurt wasn't about to go breaking his heart over another straight guy. In his own clumsy fashion, Finn had been trying to look out for him and Kurt could not resent that, but he _had _forced Finn to swear on their almost-family bond that he wouldn't tell anyone, especially Rachel, about Blaine. In particular, the fact that he was a Warbler.

"It wasn't like that," he protested, sounding unconvincing even to himself. "Mercedes and Blaine are two of my best friends and it was just a friendly little getting-to-know-you dinner."

Looking a little hurt, Finn said, "You've only known the dude two weeks and he's one of your best friends? How come you haven't asked me to meet him? Aren't I your friend, too?"

"Yes, of course you are, but it's different between us and you know that. You feel a sort of brotherly affection towards me now and you'd have felt obliged to try and interrogate Blaine as if he were my boyfriend or something." Kurt licked his lips and drew a deep breath, averting his gaze from Finn's uncomfortably knowing brown eyes. Even he could not deny the fact that his voice had lingered longingly for a moment over the word boyfriend. "It's just that . . . I talk to Mercedes and Blaine about each other all the time, and I just thought it would be nice for them to meet face to face. I hoped that they would like each other."

Finn nodded and reached out to steal a cherry tomato out of Kurt's salad. Kurt gave him a scolding look and mimed stabbing him with a fork, which just drew a goofy grin from the taller boy that Kurt could not help but mirror.

"You remember when you introduced me to your dad for the first time?" Finn asked, the change of subject confusing Kurt.

"Of course."

Finn nodded. "The four of us had dinner at Breadstix. You wanted us to get to know each other and play happy family, but then your dad and I started talking sports. We got along great and the whole meal was great and I had a great time."

"While I felt totally invisible," Kurt recalled, a trace of remembered pain coloring his words.

"I didn't mean for that to happen, but it still hurt you," Finn said quietly, regret in his eyes. "A lot."

Kurt was not an idiot and it was obvious what parallel Finn was attempting to draw. He thought back to that non-date with Blaine and shook his head. _Oh, who was he kidding? There had been three people and no formal declaration of romantic intent, but he had totally counted it as a date._ His face grew hot remembering how he had flirted and flailed like a 12-year-old girl every time he found something else in common with Blaine, directing the conversation the entire evening to any overtly gay subject that he could think of, just because he could. Partly, it had been joyful relief over being able to talk about such things openly with a boy who understood, but part of him had been using the opportunity of having a witness present to show off. He had been shutting Mercedes out of the conversation – seriously, socio-economics was her worst school subject and her reading tastes veered more toward romance novels than theatrical biographies - and he had never even noticed.

"I did the exact same thing to Mercedes, didn't I?" he whispered. "I let myself get so caught up in my own interests that I treated her like she wasn't even there."

Finn's expression was full of sympathy. "It happens. Back when Quinn and I were together, when we first started dating, Puck used to gripe about how I never had time for him anymore. He had his string of cheerleaders and cougars but he always had time for me, and all of a sudden I didn't have time for him." He sighed. "Sometimes I think that's the whole reason he went after her in the first place."

Kurt dared a comforting pat of his forearm. Finn still wasn't the most comfortable when it came to being touched by him, but it was rare for him to broach the topic of last year's humiliating "Baby-Gate" incident and it was clear that he still hurt from it.

A nod and a small smile from Finn warmed him.

"What I mean is," Finn continued, "everybody gets a little blind to the old when they're interested in somebody new. You've just got to remember that you and Mercedes is kind of like you and your dad. Burt made friends with me but he still loved you more than anybody. Now you've got a friendship with a gay dude for the first time. One that has potential to be more than friends, maybe, but Mercedes still loves you and I think you still love her. She's still your best friend, right?"

Feeling a little shocked by Finn's clear-eyed understanding, he nodded. "Always."

"And you know the big tater-tot revolution wasn't really about tater-tots, right?"

Kurt sighed quietly, taking a large bite from a celery stalk just to occupy his mouth for a few seconds while he thought things over. "I told her she couldn't substitute food for love or me for a boyfriend. I missed the point, didn't I?"

Finn shrugged. "I'm just guessing, but I think the tots were about having something normal. She eats them every time they're available and when Sue took them away, that was just one more thing she loves that wasn't there for her anymore. She'd never do something mean to you for taking your friendship away, but messing up Sue's ride was different."

"It allowed her to take revenge and be a bad-ass at the same time, something she knows I wanted last year but never could figure out how to get. She tried to share the moment with me this morning and I totally didn't get it." With a sigh, Kurt abandoned the remainder of his salad and rubbed his face with both hands. "My best friend has been calling out for love and attention from me, and instead of giving it to her I tried to magically fix everything by setting her up on a date with a _football player_. How could I be so stupid?"

"Who'd you set her up with?" Finn asked, looking interested.

"Anthony Rashad."

An unexpected grimace crossed Finn's face. "The student-union dude? Why? I mean, seriously, he's a nice guy and all but he's got all the personality of one of those celery stalks. He doesn't seem like Mercedes' type at all."

Feeling worse by the moment, Kurt stared at him. "I just, I thought they'd . . . maybe have some things in common. He's really good looking, and popular, and . . ." He stopped in horror, realizing that he actually _had_ done what Mercedes accused him of and paired them up based on the superficial qualifications of being two attractive people of the same race.

Finn seemed to read his mind. "Did Mercedes ever act interested in Matt Rutherford?" he asked, giving Kurt a pitying look. "Or maybe Azimio?"

Kurt tossed his head, insulted on Mercedes' behalf that he would even suggest such a thing. "She has far too much self-respect and good taste to ever be interested in a mouth breathing troglodyte like Azimio. And as for Matt, no, she never said anything."

"Uh-huh, and who was her first serious crush at this school?"

Amusement played over Finn's lips as he asked the question. Everybody in Glee knew this story by now and Kurt blushed bright red as he said, "Me, before she knew I was gay."

"No offense, Kurt, but you are without a doubt, the whitest guy at this school. With the possible exception of Artie. You're into music, cool clothes, performing arts, facials, and lots of other stuff that girls are interested in, plus you're Mercedes' best bud, and as far as I know Anthony doesn't have any of those things going for him. Don't you think you should have looked for a straight dude kind of like you, if you wanted to set her up? Especially if this was an attempt to distract her while you went off on gay dates and stuff."

Kurt felt a little offended by that; not so much the characterization of his interests as girly, but the implication that he'd be happy to foist Mercedes off on the first interested boy that came along just to be free of her. Except . . . wasn't that kind of what he _had_ done?

"Let me put it another way," Finn said, continuing his uncharacteristic display of intelligent and relentless reasonability. "What if Mercedes had started dating somebody on her own, but you hadn't found Blaine and then all she ever wanted to talk about was him and what they did together. If she blew you off to spend time with somebody else, how would you feel?"

A deep sigh gusted through Kurt's lips. They both knew the answer to that. He'd have pitched a fit and become deeply jealous, just as he had when he'd thought Finn was stealing his dad away. "All right, I get it. You've made your point. I'll talk to her and apologize for being a selfish jerk."

"Cool," he replied, grinning guilelessly. "Hey, I'm getting pretty good at this brotherly advice thing, aren't I?"

Kurt had to smile. He just looked so pleased with himself. "You are, actually."

He nodded and drained the last of his milk, licking away the resulting milk moustache. Looking at Kurt's still half-full tray, which contained an untouched cup of fat-free chocolate pudding, he asked, "Can I have that?"

"What, brotherly advice comes with a consulting fee?"

Puppy eyes instantly fastened on Kurt's face. "Please?"

Snorting a laugh, he handed it over. "I wasn't hungry anyway." That much was true. He had a lot of making up to do and there was no time like the present. Seeing Mercedes enter the lunch line all alone, and wondering vaguely what had kept her, he rose. Picking up his phone, he deleted the half finished message asking Blaine if he wanted to meet up after school, and said, "I think I'll go see if Mercedes would like to go bowling tonight."

Finn, already halfway through his dessert-cup, stuck the spoon in his mouth and offered a supportive fist bump.

He threw his tray away and, grabbing a new one, ducked into the lunch line beside Mercedes. The cafeteria lady gave him a puzzled look, which he ignored in favor of picking up two paper plates with little squares of frosted chocolate brownie on them. They were his favorite, and Mercedes', and something they both usually avoided for their fattening qualities. "Buy you a brownie, gorgeous?" he asked shyly.

Mercedes looked at him curiously, smiling a little. "I thought you already went to lunch with Finn earlier."

Kurt felt his eyes smart. She had been avoiding him and he had not even noticed; that was how badly he had let things deteriorate between them. "He ate my dessert," he said truthfully. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Finn was still seated and watching him avidly, giving Kurt a ridiculously exaggerrated nod of encouragement from across the room. "And I wanted to apologize to you. I haven't been there for you lately, the way I should have been. I've been so caught up in having a new friend that I haven't been taking care of my best friend. I'm really sorry and I hoped you might want to go to the Lima Bowl with me tonight and let me make it up to you. We could talk."

She stared into his eyes. "Best friend?" she repeated. He nodded, swallowing audibly. Mercedes beautiful smile slowly brightened her face. "Does that mean I get to be your Maid of Honor when you and Blaine head off to Vegas and get married by Elvis?"

Kurt laughed, abandoning his tray and bending to receive the hearty hug that suddenly flung itself around his neck. "You can even pick out the gaudy diamond rings."

Over her shoulder, he looked back at Finn who was beaming with self-satisfied pleasure and giving him a double thumbs-up. Kurt nodded back, wondering just when it was that Finn Hudson had become the smart one in their relationship.


	10. Blaine: A Symbol of Courage

**I found myself wondering how Kurt came to have the photo of Blaine when they'd just met, so I went back to fill in more of the conversation at Dalton Academy. Just a sweet little 'Klaine' moment. (This surprised me, because I didn't even think I was shipping them!)**

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"Confront him! Call him out. I ran, Kurt. I didn't stand up. I let bullies chase me away, and it is something I really, really regret."

Kurt studied his face for several moments as the passionate words rang through the silence, then he said, "I did that once already." Kurt stared down at the lid of his coffee cup with lost, tired eyes. "Stood up to them, I mean. At the end of last year, I told them off and said that I was proud to be different. That it was the best thing about me. I even dared them to hit me if that was the only way they could deal with me. They would have done it too, if it weren't for a timely intervention from my fellow glee-clubbers. They thought the bullying had to do with how much the jocks hate Glee, and I never told them otherwise."

"Why not?"

He smirked humorlessly. "Because it felt a lot better than pointing out the fact that I'm an outsider even among outcasts." Kurt sighed. "Just the same, here I am, three months into a new school year with the situation even worse than before."

"You said you stood up to _them_," Blaine repeated, the gentle note of understanding in his voice bringing Kurt's eyes back up to his face. He realized now why the other boy had seemed so shocked yesterday upon learning that the Warblers were considered cool. Apparently at McKinley, loving to sing was just one more mark against him. "There's more than just one devoted Neanderthal on your case, I take it?"

Kurt took a deep breath as if trying to gather his strength, but his shoulders sagged anyway. "The one I was talking about, Karofsky; has a best friend who's just as much of a problem. Most of the jocks at my school don't like me. They're all convinced that I'm trying to use my evil gay voodoo to get into their pants or something."

Blaine smiled a bit at his sarcastic jibe, glad to see a little fire in Kurt's eyes. "Been there, too."

He nodded, relaxing a tiny bit at the reminder. "None of the others actually do much, outside of pulling an occasional childish prank. Karofsky and his friend are a different story. When they're together, it's just double the trouble for me, and no one does anything to help." Kurt shook his head, a lonely expression filling his eyes. "My friends don't even notice what's happening anymore, and I don't want to sound like a whiny broken record, constantly complaining about it. It's almost like seeing me get pushed around and taunted by homophobic slurs has become just such a common part of the day, that nobody has any reason to care."

Kurt stopped talking when his voice cracked. He lifted his latte, trying to pretend it was only because he had a dry throat, but his hand was shaking so badly that liquid slopped out of the sipping hole, a couple of drops striking his pale gray tweed suit-scarf and causing him to gasp in alarm.

"Here, it's okay. Let me help you," Blaine said, quickly moving closer and dabbing a napkin against the tiny spill, blotting the droplets up before they could soak into the fine material.

Kurt's eyes shut, his lips pressing tight together as the simple words and kindly action hit him. He put his cup down and laced his fingers together to try and hide their trembling.

Blaine's heart went out to him. No one should be that devastated by a simple offer of help. Instinct made him completely disregard the polite distance he had been keeping with this near-stranger and scoot closer, gripping Kurt's shoulder with one hand and covering his shaking hands with the other. "This has been going on for a long time, hasn't it?" he asked quietly.

Kurt nodded jerkily. Eyelids fluttered open, revealing blue eyes shimmering with tears. "Lately, it's been _so_ much worse. The second of my two tormentors has been out sick all week, and you'd think that would have given me a break. Instead, Karofsky just keeps pushing me, literally, until sometimes I feel sure that I'm just going to break. If this goes on much longer, I _will_ break."

There was deep shame in his eyes and Blaine squeezed his hands harder, using both of his own to try and emphasize how sincerely he meant it when he replied, "It's okay, Kurt. It's not your fault. Nobody can go it alone forever. Nobody." Kurt met his eyes and Blaine smiled encouragingly at him. "Like I said, I ran away from my problems. I _did_ break, and I _do_ regret that. At least you had the guts to fight back. Against two of them, no less! That already puts you a big step ahead in this particular game, because now they know you're not afraid of them."

"Yes, I am," he said, shaking his head. "I try to act like it doesn't bother me but sometimes I'm so terrified that it's all I can do not to fall apart. Maybe it shows a little and that's why Karofsky is so hell bent on making me miserable."

"I wouldn't doubt it," he agreed. "There's nothing a bully likes better than to feel that he's beaten his victim into submission. Some kind of sick power trip, I guess. That's why I think you need to get this guy alone and stand up to him. Convince him that he's wrong to keep pushing you. If all he wants is a victim, just prove that you aren't willing to be one for him anymore. Without the support of his buddy, I think he'll probably back down."

Kurt looked doubtful. "That's the part that worries me. What if he doesn't back down? Or what if I have the opportunity but I just can't bring myself to confront him? Blaine, I'm honestly not sure I have that kind of strength anymore."

The pleading in his eyes tugged at Blaine's heart. Kurt was so beautiful and so vulnerable that it made him want to gather him close and kiss all of that pain and misery away. The realization of that shocked him. He was _not_ the type of person to dive head-first into a relationship with a guy he had known for a grand total of one hour, spread over two days!

Yet . . . something in Kurt called out to him, drawing forth sympathy and the deep understanding of having been in exactly the same position. Kurt needed a friend right now; a support system. This was not the time to make a romantic gesture that would probably terrify the poor kid and do absolutely nothing to solve his very real problem. Especially since instinct told Blaine that, ironically, the only reason Kurt was allowing him to see that damnably attractive vulnerability was because he was an outsider and therefore safe to confide in.

He took a deep breath. Needing to lighten the mood a little, he smiled. "Have you ever seen "The Wizard of Oz"?"

Confused incredulity replaced the pain in Kurt's eyes so quickly that Blaine nearly laughed.

"Of course," he said, his wary tone implying that he thought Blaine just might be messing with him. "Who hasn't?"

Blaine's smile got bigger as he quoted, "What makes the Hottentots so hot? What puts the Ape in apricot? What have you got that I ain't got?"

A little smile tipped Kurt's mouth at the slight alteration of the final line. "Courage?"

"You can say that again!" He winked, surprising a few notes of warm, genuine laughter out of Kurt.

"Are you trying to tell me that backing off and letting Karofsky get away with this crap will make me a coward?" Kurt asked quietly, the smile fading into a somewhat affronted expression. "Because, excuse me, but that sounds slightly hypocritical considering what you just told me about choosing to leave your old school and come here!"

"I'm not calling you a coward," he assured Kurt, deciding that admitting that he _did_ feel like a coward much of the time would be counter-productive. "I'm just saying that if you found the courage to stand up for yourself once, then, like the Lion in the movie, you've had it inside of you all along and you deserve a chance to show this idiot that he didn't drive it out of you with his pushing and threatening and petty, ignorant insults. You're an incredibly strong person, Kurt. We've only just met and I can already tell that about you. You _can_ do this thing. I believe in you."

Kurt drew himself up straighter, a rosy pink brightening his cheeks. His eyes all but glowed with a sense of renewed pride at those words. It made Blaine feel a little awed that he could bring such an expression to his eyes.

Suddenly, a hint of doubt darkened Kurt's features again. "That sounds good, but what if I get all the way back to McKinley and discover that you're wrong? It's not like you can present me with a magical boy-scout medal to remember my courage by."

Blaine laughed. "No, I'm afraid not, but maybe I have something just as good."

"What?" he asked curiously.

"Wait right here a minute," he said, rising from his chair. Kurt nodded, a little smile brightening his face as Blaine added, "Don't move, I'll be right back."

He left the little café attached to the Junior Commons and hurried toward the stairs leading to his room. Kurt needed a symbol, just something to hold onto when he needed a reminder that life went on outside the walls of his high school, and that someone out here cared.

Dalton students had just received the finished prints of their annual school photographs last week. He had already sent the larger prints to his family and distributed most of the wallets to friends here at school, but he did still have two 5x7" prints unclaimed.

He paused in the act of pulling one of the leftovers out of the desk in his room. Would it be terribly forward to give a boy he had just met a photo of himself, however kindly meant? What if Kurt read more than friendship into his intentions?

A fluttering feeling deep inside answered that question for him. He suspected that he would feel just fine about it if Kurt chose to see the gesture as more than just friendly. Blaine blushed at the realization. God, he was acting like a sappy fairy-tale character, wishing for love at first sight. That was crazy; there was no such thing!

Then he thought back to the boy in the café with the sad, luminous, blue-green eyes, perfect porcelain skin and facial expressions that could be easily read by a blind man. He remembered Kurt's clumsy but endearing attempt at spying in his guess-work uniform, and his timid request to talk when he had unexpectedly reappeared today after the final class bell, scared that he would get beat up for intruding a second time, but determined to get his questions answered.

Maybe it wasn't so crazy, after all.

With a nod, Blaine grabbed the photo and raced back to the café, hoping hard that Kurt would not have used the opportunity of being alone to escape back to Lima. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw him sitting at the table, waiting patiently.

"Here," he said breathlessly, throwing himself into his original seat.

Kurt accepted the offering, a delighted smile brightening his eyes and pressing two dimples into his cheeks when he realized what he had been given. Blaine's heart fluttered again at the sight. Oh, yeah, he was definitely a goner.

"It's not a boy-scout medal, but maybe you can look at that and find the strength to keep on fighting, knowing that I'm in your corner."

"Did you just use a sports metaphor to describe me?" Kurt asked, a laugh breaking free. "I'll have to tell my dad. He'll never believe it!"

Blaine laughed too, a warm feeling overtaking him as Kurt pulled back the lapel of his odd little coat-scarf and tucked the photograph into a previously unseen shirt pocket, right over his heart.

"Thank you, Blaine," he said softly. "This will help me more than you know."

"If you ever need to talk, feel free to call me," he offered, surprising himself again. Pulling a pen out of his breast pocket, he wrote his number on a fresh napkin and handed it over. "Whenever you need me, Kurt. I mean it."

The other boy nearly glowed with happiness. Pulling out his cell, Kurt quickly added the contact, then dialed the new number. Blaine pulled his ringing phone out of his pants pocket. "In case you need to return the favor," Kurt told him, smiling a little shyly as he added, "Any time."

A bell rang, interrupting the moment. Reluctantly, Blaine said, "That's the chore bell. Everyone here helps out with things like cafeteria duty and I'm scheduled to work the dinner shift tonight. I have to go."

Kurt rose and held out his hand, formally shaking Blaine's. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "For everything."

For caring; the silent words hung in the air between them.

Blaine squeezed his hand, reluctant to let him go. "Good luck, tomorrow. Let me know it goes?"

"I will," he agreed firmly. "Goodbye, Blaine."

"Goodbye, Kurt," Blaine replied, smiling into his eyes. "I'll see you soon."

He could have meant the Sectionals competition in three weeks, but he really didn't.

"I'll see you soon," Kurt repeated, the words quiet but filled with promise.

The finely-dressed boy turned, gathered his possessions and left the café, while Blaine stood and watched him go.

He should have been hurrying to get to his chore shift but he did not move. He was glad he had not when Kurt looked over his shoulder just before rounding the corner that would take him out of sight, and smiled at him.

Blaine sighed, telling himself that the sound did _not_ scream 'love-sick puppy' and grinned as he went to report for duty.

And if anyone wondered why the Junior lead of the Dalton Academy Warblers felt moved to whistle a jaunty rendition of, "We're Off To See the Wizard," all the way through dinner prep, they did not bother to ask.


	11. Beiste: Beauty in the Beiste

**As far as I know, Kurt has only interacted with Coach Beiste one time, during the boys' mash up in "Never Been Kissed" but I find her really intriguing and was curious to see these two properly meet. (Side note: this chapter was written before the unexpected revelation that Karofsky is on the football team this year, so I referred to him as the hockey player he was establed to be in Season 1.)**

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Some days, when there was no other way to feel better, a guy just _had_ to hit something.

True, it was a cliché macho bullshit kind of reaction to having a crappy day and maybe he wasn't the type that anyone would suspect to harbor those kinds of impulses, but contrary to popular belief Kurt Hummel was every bit as male and annoyingly hormonal as any other Y-chromosome-carrying member of this school.

Usually, he just hid it a lot better.

The pressure had been getting to him lately. There was just too much. Worry over his dad's health. The endless harassment over his sexuality that never got easier to bear, no matter how many times it happened. The frustrating lack of connection with his best friends; which was something that left him feeling hollow and cold and somehow guilty, every time he saw them.

And that was just the normal, everyday stuff. It did not even touch the confused horror that had come from discovering that one of his worst tormentors was a closeted homosexual who apparently had the hots for him, or the confused mixture of gratitude and desire he felt every single time he even thought about Blaine!

Today the pressure had been mounting since the moment he woke up, when he had gone upstairs just in time to catch Dad smuggling a sausage and egg breakfast sandwich and a box of jelly donuts into the house. It had not improved all day and now, at the end of the school-day, he had just been locker-checked and treated to a vile homophobic slur right in front of a faculty member who simply turned her head and pretended not to notice anything. His jaw clenched so hard it hurt when the two taunting jocks just laughed and high-fived each other, walking away scot-free.

Kurt's hand balled into a fist and he pounded it against the front of his locker, creating a resounding crash in the mostly empty hallway. He was beginning to feel like he would have a psychotic break soon if he could not take his frustration and rage out in some physical way.

But what could he do? He wasn't dressed for running, he was not in the mood for dancing, and he was no longer a member of the Cheerios; something he regretted more and more these days. Being one of Sylvester's minions had not been easy but it had afforded a measure of respect, plus he had spent most evenings too exhausted from practice to even consider his emotional state.

He considered the weight room. That would not require a partner and he had taken enough required weight-training through P.E. and Cheerios to know that pumping iron actually did feel pretty good when you were angry. However, he dismissed that idea quickly. That room was always full of jocks and the last thing he needed right now was to be surrounded by more homophobic meat-heads who had more biceps than brains.

He did not want to be around anyone at all, to be honest, and had already refused invitations to hang out and watch movies with Tina and Mercedes.

Suddenly, he noticed Artie and Puck talking together as they moved toward the exit nearest the parking lot. Wait, if those two were in street clothes at this time of day, then that meant there was no football practice scheduled!

Kurt smiled, grabbing his bag. Ironically, the football field was the one place in this school where he would not have to worry about being harassed by Karofsky or any of the other puck-heads. The football and hockey teams had a long standing rivalry between them and avoided each other's territory like the plague.

Breaking into a jog, he hurried to the equipment locker just inside the football locker room. Nobody was present and he breathed a sigh of relief. He dialed the combination on the swinging padlock, using the same one he recalled from last year when he had briefly played for Coach Tanaka. It was a weird quirk of his brain that he always retained numbers, though of course the odds were strong that somebody had changed the combo by now.

Bingo! Luck was in his favor for once and the lock popped open easily. Stowing his messenger bag in one of the empty lockers, Kurt grabbed the kickstand and a large sack of practice footballs and slung it over his shoulder before trudging out towards the field.

It had rained earlier today and the sky was threatening to let loose again at any time, but Kurt did not care for once about the state of his shoes or the possibility of getting his hair or designer clothing wet. He just wanted to kick.

He decided to start at the twenty-yard line, his most accurate starting point last year. Setting up a ball, he took a deep breath, ran forward and kicked as hard as he could. The ball went so far off-center that it would have embarrassed him deeply had anyone seen it, proving how out of practice he was.

"Okay, Kurt, how about you do it right this time?" he mumbled.

Setting up another ball, he backed off the tee and did a series of stretches to warm his body up, flexing, squatting and high-kicking his right leg to get the blood pumping, and then tried again. The football wobbled in air and just barely made it over the center bar but it went through.

"Better," he praised himself, "but still not quite there."

He wished he had thought to bring some music with him. He always performed better to music, but this had been an impulse and he had not even thought to bring his iPod with him. Oh well, it wasn't like there was a game on the line or something. Imagination would do.

He put another football in place and closed his eyes for a moment as he took a deep breath. Then, silently mouthing the words to "Single Ladies" as he bopped along in the familiar dance moves, he skipped up to the tee and kicked with everything he had. The ball sailed cleanly through the uprights and Kurt laughed, indulging in a triumphant fist pump. Nothing worked better than Beyoncé, even now.

Four more footballs traveled through the goal-posts without a hitch and Kurt moved back ten yards. His body was warming quickly and his aim was getting better as he kicked ball after ball, imagining each one to be another problem that had been eating at him. He symbolically kicked his dad's butt for not following doctor's orders. He kicked Mr. Schuester for his continued well-meaning cluelessness. He kicked his fellow glee clubbers just to get their attention. He kicked the uncaring teacher who had ignored him in the hallway. He viciously kicked each of his Neanderthal tormentors, wishing he could do the same thing in real life.

Over and over, footballs flew toward the uprights. Not all of them went through. In fact, the more agitated he was by the imaginary object of his kick, the worse he did, but it did not take away the satisfaction he derived from doing it.

By the time he had kicked the last ball in the sack, Kurt was panting and sweating, but he felt a great deal better. Unfortunately, now he would have to go retrieve the 30-odd footballs he had randomly strewn all over the field.

"You got one hell of a leg on you, kid!"

Kurt jumped in fright at the unexpected call, spinning around to find, "Oh . . . hi, Coach Beiste." His face flushed, and he cringed inside as he waited for her to rip into him for unauthorized use of school equipment and breaking into the athletic property locker. "I didn't think anyone was here."

"Had a little paperwork to finish up," she said, striding out onto the field to stand close enough that she would not have to shout. "I heard the sound of somebody kicking, so I came out to see. Wasn't expecting it to be one of Schuester's kids. What's your name again?"

"Um, it's Kurt. Kurt Hummel. I'm the only boy in Glee who isn't also one of yours, actually," he said, offering a smile and hoping she couldn't hear the frightened pounding of his heart.

Finn, Sam and the others all said Coach Beiste was a sweet person but it was hard not to feel intimidated by a woman who stood a head taller than he did and probably outweighed him by 100 pounds of pure muscle. Hell, she could probably snap his father like a twig, never mind him! And who wouldn't be intimidated by somebody who could wear shorts and a short-sleeved, nylon athletic shirt in damp, 40F weather without showing so much as a goose-bump?

"Why is that?" she asked brusquely, folding a pair of muscular arms across her chest. "You're a pretty great kicker, from what I saw. You've got some experience on the field, too, unless I miss my guess. Why didn't you come out for my team?"

He shrugged, shivering a bit as the threatening rain started to sprinkle down. "I played last year, for Coach Tanaka, just for a few weeks. I decided it wasn't really for me."

Beiste snapped her fingers and pointed. "You're that little kicker!" she blurted. "The one who made the whole team dance to some pop song and then won them their only game last year. I saw the footage when I was considering whether or not to take this job."

A squirm took over his body before he could stop it. He wasn't ashamed of that performance, far from it, but everybody always reacted this way when they found out about that game, with a weird mixture of awe and incredulity. "Yes, ma'am."

"You sure this sport isn't for you?" she asked, chuckling. "Because that was the damndest thing I ever saw and I've been coaching for a lot of years."

A smile stole over his face. He liked her laugh. It was warm and jovial and made him feel as if he was being let in on a good joke. "I'm sure. I kind of did it to impress my dad, but it turned out that even winning football games isn't enough to make guys like me welcome in places like this."

He shrugged, seeing the understanding look on her face and knowing she'd correctly deciphered his meaning.

"Kind of like me asking me to teach a dance class, huh?" she said, patting his shoulder with one meaty hand. To Kurt's surprise, she began to help him retrieve footballs and place them in the equipment sack. "Just because I'm good at ballet don't make me any worse at tap-dancing."

Kurt did not understand her metaphor at all, but he smiled and nodded anyway. "Glee club is more my preference," he said honestly. "Athletics just don't really interest me. In addition to football, I also spent several months as a Cheerio last year, so I'm sure of that."

"You worked with Sylvester?" she said, brow wrinkling as she looked him up and down.

"She wanted vocals in her routines, so that's mostly what I did. Helped the squad win Nationals by singing a Celine Dion medley, all in French," he said, hoping he didn't sound too boastful. "It wasn't something I really enjoyed beyond the occasional performance, though, so I didn't sign up again this year. Coach Sylvester was really unhappy when she found out but she couldn't force me to cheer against my will."

That deep, rolling laughter belted forth again and Kurt found himself laughing along as the football coach made a ticking motion in the air. "You just earned another point in the plus column, kid. Anybody who has the guts to piss off Sylvester and live to tell about it is definitely in my good books."

"Do you sing?" he asked impulsively, not really knowing what made him ask.

She paused in putting a couple of footballs in the sack. Kurt's eyes bulged a little when he realized that she was holding both in one hand. "Me? No. Well, not for public spectacle anyway. Shower, car, occasionally with the radio, that's about it. Why?"

He shrugged and jogged away to get a ball that had gone way off course. Bringing it back, he found her still waiting for an answer and said honestly, "Your speaking voice is wonderful. It's sort of like," he paused, searching for an apt comparison, "like peppermint hot chocolate, all warm and rich and cool at the same time. I just thought it'd be really awesome if you sang."

To Kurt's surprise, the stern-looking coach suddenly blushed like a school-girl. She laughed a little, clearly embarrassed. "I don't think anyone has ever said something like that to me before. Most people think my voice is too deep; that it sounds manly."

He smiled, glancing around and realizing to his surprise that they had managed to gather up all of the stray footballs as they talked. That was good, as the rain was starting to fall harder and colder. Taking one side of the sack to distribute the weight between himself and Coach Beiste as they began walking back toward the locker room, Kurt admitted, "Maybe I have a different perspective because most people think my voice is too girly." He shrugged. "Most guys are kind of freaked out by me, because I'm different."

She huffed. "I hear ya, kid. They don't exactly beat down my door either."

"Their loss," he dared, suddenly feeling a strange sort of kinship with this very masculine woman. He was ashamed to realize that up until this moment he had been subconsciously assuming Coach Beiste was a lesbian, based on her physical appearance and choice of career. This was the first time he had ever even taken a good look at her. "I'll bet when you dress up in pretty clothes and put on the right kind of makeup, you knock all the guys dead."

The coach snorted. "Only if they die laughing."

She dusted off her hands as they returned the footballs to the lock-up and turned to face him, looking a little startled when she saw that Kurt had visibly perked up, suddenly resembling a hound who had caught an interesting scent on the breeze.

"Would you be interested in a make-over?" he said, heart leaping and a million possibilities racing through his mind as he looked her over.

"What?" she said, looking like she was caught somewhere in between amusement and insult.

Kurt boldly captured her hands. "Please? I'm not one of your students." Coach Beiste taught the freshman P.E. and Physical Science courses in addition to her duties as football coach. "Or one of your athletes, so it wouldn't be a conflict of interest or anything, and I'd love to do it. I haven't had the opportunity to glam anyone up in ages!"

Her brow furrowed. "You're messing with me, aren't you? Did somebody put you up to this, like a bet or a prank or something?" He shook his head vigorously and she gestured for him to sit down on one of the locker room benches and fixed him with a stern look. She stared into his wide eyes for several seconds, and then nodded. "Okay, let's just say I believe you. What's this really all about? Why were you outside in the cold kicking footballs for the past hour, when you had no reason to? Because I know darned well you didn't just drop by the field in the hopes of finding somebody you could offer makeup tips to."

"Um," he hedged, face flushing. It did sound pretty ridiculous when she put it that way. He shrank back from the grim expression on her face. "I was out of line in suggesting that, wasn't I? I'm really sorry, Ms. Beiste. I didn't mean to offend you. Seriously, sometimes my fashion sense just gets the better of my common sense and the sight of polyester shorts in November set off every alarm in my body."

Much to his relief, she relaxed into laughter again. "Apology accepted, now answer the question."

Kurt studied her face for a few seconds, in turn. Something about this woman suggested honesty, like just maybe she really would care and not shrug off a student's problem the way every other teacher in this school seemed to do. Slowly, hesitantly, he told her the truth and the more he talked, the faster the information seemed to spill out. It was as if the pressure that had been building and building inside of him had found a release valve and he could not stop the words and emotions from steaming out of his body.

He did not reveal the story of Karofsky's unwelcome kiss, still unable to talk comfortably about that with anyone other than the ever understanding Blaine, but he told her nearly everything else and the relief of getting it all out left him feeling limp and empty when he finally finished.

"I'm sorry," he said again, slumping on the bench as he caught the stunned look in her eyes and realized that he had probably overwhelmed her with far more information than her simple question had deserved. "I shouldn't have-"

"No," she interrupted, laying a large warm hand on his shoulder and giving it a surprisingly comforting pat. "You absolutely should have. In fact, you should have told somebody what was going on a long time ago, but honestly I can understand why you didn't want to."

He sighed. "I know there's nothing you can do; nothing anyone can do about most of it, but I think I really needed to just have somebody listen."

Giving his shoulder another light squeeze, she said, "I was glad to do it, son, and I certainly can do something about you being pushed around like a tackling dummy in the middle of a public school hallway. Nobody messes with my kids and gets a free refill."

Again, he was not quite sure what that meant, but it definitely sounded promising. "Your kids?" he repeated. "Does that mean I have to play football again?"

That lovely, warm chuckle echoed through the empty locker room. "If it was a little earlier in the season, I'd be tempted to say yes! No, kid, you don't have to play football, but me and Schuester kind of struck a deal. His kids don't mess with me and I don't make 'em run laps until they puke."

Doubtfully, he guessed, "So, that means you take care of them."

She smiled. "That's right. Consider yourself grandfathered into the policy. I think I'll just have myself a little conversation with McClellan tomorrow."

Coach McClellan was the hockey coach and not a bad guy, at least by reputation. Kurt was not sure talking to him would do any good and Coach Beiste couldn't possibly be there to witness every shove, slur and general abuse that he suffered at the hands of the jocks, but Kurt felt a little stirring of hope inside his chest for the first time in what felt like a year. "Thanks, Ms. Beiste."

She slapped him on the back so hard he almost flew off the bench. "Call me Coach."

Kurt grinned. "Thanks, Coach."

They stood, the coach taking one last look around the locker room to make sure everything was in the proper order as Kurt gathered his bag from the locker where he had stowed it. Then she turned off the lights and escorted him to the parking lot. Darkness had fallen and the rain continued to pelt down with it, causing Kurt to huddle inside his hooded jacket while Beiste strode along next to him, seemingly unaffected by the weather.

Kurt shook his head in admiration. She really was magnificent. He wished everyone could see it.

"Are you sure you don't want to let me give you that makeover?" he asked, his tone warming with excitement, forgetting all about his terrible day as he began chattering with all the enthusiasm of an over-caffeinated squirrel, outlining all the possibilities inherent in what the right fabrics, colors and flattering styles could do for her as he and the bemused football coach walked together in the cold November rain.


	12. Burt: A New Direction

**I wasn't going to write Burt, because I did a whole series of vignettes about him and Kurt through the years in "Moments", but after watching "Furt" I felt that this needed to be written.**

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Burt had seen the look in his son's eyes when Principal Sylvester had admitted that there was nothing further she could do to help defend Kurt unless things turned violent. He had felt the hope and strength draining out of the boy when Kurt spoke grimly of enjoying the rest of his day, knowing that his terror would begin anew tomorrow. Worst of all, he had witnessed the terrible resignation that came from knowing everything was about to return to its twisted version of normalcy, with the added bonus of his tormentor having gained strength from his lack of punishment, ready to ramp up his acts of hatred in return for their having dared to fight back.

He knew, suddenly, unequivocally and terrifyingly, that if _he_ did not do what the Lima school board had been too damned gutless to do; take action to protect his son right here and now, that it would only be a matter of time until he lost the boy.

Either that Karofsky punk would make good his threat or he would just make Kurt's life so miserable that Kurt would eventually lose hope and do the job for him.

It really had come down to that.

All those stories that had been in the National news lately; gay kids driven to the point of suicide by bullies who refused to let up on the selfish pleasure of making someone else's life an endless misery, haunted Burt.

Kurt had always been so strong, he did not want to believe it, but those other kids had probably started out strong too. They had probably had friends, parents, even boyfriends who loved them, and whom they loved, but everyone had a breaking point and these were just kids. Living for someone else's sake had just not been enough to sustain them.

To his horror, Burt could actually imagine Kurt's relentless logic convincing him that he would be doing everyone a favor and making things easier for those he loved by taking his continual drama and pain out of their lives. Believing they would get over it, and that it was for the best.

Except that it would not be for the best; not at all. Burt knew that he would never get over it if he lost his son. His heart would simply not be strong enough to take that loss. His certainty had nothing whatsoever to do with his recent heart attack and everything to do with how much he loved that boy.

Moments suddenly raced through Burt's mind, tangled images of their lives over the last 17 years washing over him.

Kurt, five and a half pounds of squalling, red-faced newborn, wrapped in a soft receiving blanket and placed into a terrified, exhilarated, weepingly overjoyed father's arms.

A baby who had learned to roll over, creep, crawl, walk and run, always faster than the childhood development books said he should. A child testing his limits ever more persistently until his exhausted parents sometimes feared they'd never be able to keep up.

The toddler who raced to his side and offered chubby arms and a face full of pure delight every time Burt came home from the garage, always ready to be picked up and spun around, laughing so joyfully at being reunited with his beloved dad.

A little boy clinging to his father's leg and bawling shamelessly on the first day of kindergarten, afraid he would be left alone, never to see Mommy and Daddy again. A repeat performance on the first day of every new school year up until the 3rd grade when someone had called the boy a sissy for the very first time; a title his father was later ashamed not to have disputed.

Eight years old and motherless, a boy who loved tea parties and dressing up in crazy costumes playing wedding, royalty, runway model and who knew what other games inside the privacy of his own thoughts, always alone because the other kids thought he was weird.

An adolescent suffering through the agonies of puberty with awkward grace, as contradictory as that sounded, and suddenly unwilling to let anyone recognize his true nature. Going quiet and dressing down to the level of what everyone else considered normal. Avoiding any unnecessary contact with other boys. That was the year he had convinced himself that his father did not and _could_ not know that he was gay, fearing that the truth would drive them apart. And Burt had not been comfortable enough to let him do otherwise, feeling almost relieved for the respite from reality.

Fifteen years old and a freshman in high school, suddenly no longer giving a damn if anyone did not like what he wore or how he acted. He was going to be happy with himself, even if nobody else was. It had been strange to see the boy, technically still in the closet and unwilling to voice his true nature, but so out and out "fabulous" with his assorted skin and hair products and enough clothing to open his own boutique that it was impossible for anyone not to recognize it.

Now seventeen years old; out and proud for more than a year. A young man who had survived his first major heartbreak, made a series of stupid teenage mistakes and learned from them, gained a dozen new and true friends for the first time in his life along with a couple of very real enemies. A giving soul, willing to play matchmaker for his lonely father and nurture that relationship, in spite of the emotional costs to himself over inviting a new mother-figure, and a step-brother who found him more creepy than cool, into their lives.

He was becoming a man that any parent could be proud of.

Burt's jaw set grimly. His son had been hiding God only knew how much fear, loneliness and isolation throughout all those years, and lately it had been so much worse. He had been under so much stress and had become increasingly unwilling to let anyone see his weak moments, or confess his problems at school, afraid to let anything disrupt the peaceful phase their lives had developed at home.

Kurt had a valiant but entirely annoying habit of trying to protect the people he loved from himself and his troubles. Burt suspected that he was unable to fathom why anyone would want to help him face a problem that Kurt had come to believe was own fault, as if he deserved punishment just for being different. He felt almost glad that it had all become too much at last. Kurt's façade had finally cracked, allowing everyone to see his pain and terror, and he'd had no choice but to reach out for help.

Burt was deeply ashamed that he had not noticed what was going on sooner. He was Kurt's father! It was his _job_ to notice stuff about his kid, even when that kid didn't want things noticed.

If he did not act now, every mistake he had ever made would pale in comparison to what came next. Burt Hummel had the power to save his little boy, to keep him safe; from the world, and from himself. He _could not_ fail to act.

All of these thoughts raced through Burt's brain in the space of a few moments. Watching Kurt walk away with his head held high but his shoulders slumped in defeat, Burt knew what he had to do.

One look into his new wife's eyes and he knew that she had seen it as well. Carole understood and she agreed with him. They had talked this situation over before they reached the school, both of them having enough experience with the weak policies at McKinley to realize that their meeting with Principal Sylvester was not likely to yield the desired results.

Carole nodded minutely. Hawaii would still be there for them in a couple of years, after the kids were off to college and they were on their own. Without an immediate intervention, Kurt might not be.

"Hey Kurt, hold up a second," he called. He watched as Kurt slowly turned around, that heartbreaking expression of resignation still on his face. "There's something we want to talk to you about."

They pulled Kurt into an empty room. Some kind of lounge area where parents and students were probably not meant to go, but Burt did not give a crap about that right now.

"Remember that school you were telling me about a couple of weeks ago?" he asked urgently, setting his hands on Kurt's shoulders and forcing eye contact, wanting him to understand how important this question was. "That all boy's school with the no-bullying policy?"

Kurt had chattered about that place for an entire evening, an amazed, starry look in his eyes that Burt had not seen in so long that he could not remember when. Kurt had been quick to establish that he was not make a recruiting speech, knowing the place was far too expensive for a regular family like theirs to afford, but the enthusiasm in his voice had been tough to miss. He had admitted with a shy blush that part of the appeal of the school was due to a boy he had met there, another gay kid whose ease and self-confidence had sparked an unmistakable desire in Kurt that had nothing to do with teenage flirting, though Burt was savvy enough to realize that there had probably been a little of that involved as well.

It had been Kurt's awe over the idea of a zero-tolerance stance that someone actually cared enough to enforce that had struck Burt. He wasn't a fool, he knew what high school life was like for kids like Kurt, but that conversation had been his first inkling that things might have gotten a lot worse lately than his son had let on.

Of course, Kurt had brushed off his concern and changed the subject, but Burt had not forgotten that conversation.

He had checked into the requirements for Dalton Academy the very next day. The tuition was even steeper than he had imagined, but Kurt's academic record was more than good enough and he had secretly filled out the application on his son's behalf without letting on.

"Dalton," Kurt said, nodding and heaving a sad little sigh. Burt did not miss the note of longing in his voice. "Of course, I remember."

He looked at Carole. She placed a hand on Kurt's forearm and asked with a smile, "How would you like to enroll there?"

The color drained from Kurt's face and for a moment Burt was worried that he was going to faint. "What?" he said in a tiny voice.

Still touching his son's right shoulder, Burt moved his other arm around Carole's, consciously creating a little family triangle. "I already filled out the paperwork and sent them a copy of your last McKinley transcript. You've already been accepted if you want to go there. We'll give them a call the minute we get home and get everything set up for you. We'll have to take you out and get your classes scheduled and your uniforms fitted and everything, but I'm thinking you might be able to start classes the day after tomorrow."

Kurt gripped his arm hard enough to leave bruises, unconsciously clutching him like a lifeline. Tears welled up in his eyes as they tracked back and forth between his father's face and Carole's. "It . . . you . . . but how can we afford that?"

Noting the fact that Kurt had not outright refused to transfer, Burt squeezed his shoulder. "You let us worry about that. The garage is doing great and we've got enough in savings to pay for the enrollment fee and the first few months' tuition."

A horrified expression crossed Kurt's face at the word 'savings'. Carole cut him off before he could speak. "Don't worry about the honeymoon, that isn't important. What is important is that you can be safe going to school. You're a lot more important to us than a couple of weeks on a beach! And before you try to argue, you should know that we would do the exact same thing for Finn if he was the one who needed help. You're our sons, Kurt, both of you. We love you and we need you both to be safe and happy."

"That isn't going to happen here," Burt said firmly. "Not right now. Don't think for one second that I'm not going to continue fighting to change the bullying policy here at McKinley. I fully intend to harass and annoy that damned school board with calls and letters every single day until they improve things around here, but in the meantime that football punk is gunning for you and I need to make sure he can't get a shot. I couldn't live with myself if anything ever happened to you, Kurt. You're my boy and it's my job to protect you."

His voice rang with sincerity and Kurt's tears finally spilled over. He threw himself into Burt's arms with a grateful sob. "I love you, Dad." He moved to include Carole in the embrace. "I love you both. Thank you _so_ much for doing this."

They hugged back, hard, then released him and allowed him a few moments to compose himself before escorting him straight back to Principal Sylvester's office to initiate the paperwork that would be needed to transfer Kurt Hummel off the rolls of William McKinley High School.

To his surprise, Sylvester had not objected to the decision, merely giving them a grim nod of approval and barking out an order to the Cheerio in her outer office to get the correct forms for her to sign.

"Let's go home," Burt said, daring to run a hand through Kurt's thick, perfectly arranged hair as they left the office.

"I can't, yet," Kurt protested, swallowing thickly. "I . . . I have to tell the kids in Glee."

Carole slid an arm around his narrow waist and gave Kurt a supportive squeeze. "They'll understand, sweetie."

He shook his head. "I'm not sure they will. I know this is for the best but I just don't know if they'll feel the same way. They might not forgive me for running out on them a week before Sectionals."

"They will," Burt told him firmly. In truth, he did not care whether Kurt leaving Glee messed up their chances, not in light of what Kurt would be facing if he stayed here, but he knew that his son did care, very much. However, from what he had seen of those kids at the wedding and reception, they cared too much about Kurt to allow him to risk his safety just for a singing contest. "They're your friends, Kurt. They'll get it. Just tell them the truth."

Kurt drew a deep breath. "I hope you're right."

"Would you like us to come with you?" Carole asked gently.

He shook his head. "No, thank you. I'd rather do this by myself." Kurt smiled shakily. "Wait for me by my locker?"

Burt dragged him close and kissed him on the head, a long standing sign of affection between them when Kurt needed a little extra boost of confidence. It said a lot about Kurt's current frame of mind that he did not try to squirm away from the embarrassing gesture.

"You got it." Burt paused for a moment, looking deeply into his son's sad but clear blue eyes. "It's for the best, son."

Kurt squeezed his hand. "I know. I'll be back in a few minutes."

As they left the lounge and watched him walk away down the hall, Kurt's spine straightened, his shoulders set in a straight line and his chin rose up. His stride became confident, purposeful and filled with a familiar, recently-absent swagger. Burt smiled to see it.

"We're doing the right thing," Carole said, smiling as she watched him go, her hand settling securely into her new husband's palm.

Burt nodded. He could detect pride, strength, courage and an immense amount of relief in Kurt's body language, a talent he had honed over years of reading his son's emotions when they had not been able to talk as freely as they should have.

"Yeah," he said, breathing a sigh of relief himself as he gave Carole a firm hug. "Yeah, we are."


	13. Santana: When You Hurt, When You Suffer

**Not sure they come across quite right but I took a shot anyway. Takes place immediately after "Furt". Oh, and there is some bad language in this chapter so the rating should probably be ratcheted up a couple of notches if that bothers you.**

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A locker door slammed shut next to Kurt and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He froze in place, fingers pausing halfway in the act of removing the picture collage taped inside his door. A couple of seconds passed before he finished the motion and cautiously turned around.

"I just came to talk to you, Hummel. Jeez, quite looking like you're expecting me to pull a knife out of my bra and go all 'Fatal Attraction' on you or something!"

Kurt relaxed at the snarky comment, his eyes widening a fraction in surprise. That was all the reaction he showed at finding Santana Lopez standing next to him, a fact which made his visitor smirk in approval. "I thought you'd still be in glee club," he said quietly.

"What's the point?" she demanded brusquely. "It's not like we have any reason to practice now that you've made sure we don't have enough people to qualify for competition anymore. Besides, everyone else is probably too busy wailing and hand wringing to even notice that I'm gone. Schuester is still trying to be all Mr. Rogers about Sectionals, Tina and Mercedes look like they just lost their favorite puppy, Brit won't say anything, Rachel is bitching out the boys for not going all ninja death-strike on Karofsky when they had the chance, the guys are all pissed off and Quinn is just mad because nobody gives a shit what she thinks. So that just leaves you."

The boy's haughty posture sagged a bit more with every description until he was leaning defeatedly against the lockers, a sad look filling his eyes. "I didn't mean to let everybody down," he whispered. He ran a hand through his hair, not even seeming to notice that he'd knocked a couple of locks out of place, drawing a startled look from Santana. "I never even considered that I was stealing your chances at this year's Sectionals trophy."

"But that doesn't mean you're going to change your mind," she said, not really asking. He shook his head, looking so miserable and defeated that she could not stand it. "Come with me," she ordered, clamping a hand around his bicep and snatching his messenger bag into her other hand as she slammed his locker shut and all but dragged him down the empty hallway.

Kurt was so surprised that he did not fight her. "Where are we going?"

Santana did not bother answering the question, just marching him up the stairs and into the balcony section of the auditorium. The place was silent and empty, no one around to overhear their conversation as they headed up to the back row.

Kurt sat in one of the worn, fold-up seats while Santana chose to perch on the back of the next row, facing him.

"What the fuck did that douche-bag do to you?" the cheerleader said without preamble, spearing him with a harsh glare.

Kurt's blue eyes widened at the abrupt demand. "The . . . the bullying is just getting out of control lately and I don't want to deal with it anymore. That's all."

She snorted inelegantly. "That's all? That's bullshit! Karofsky is a homophobic asshole who has had your number for the last two years, but it _never_ affected you like this." She tossed her head, making her ponytail sway. "You have the snarky, diva, bitch-face routine down better than anyone I know, myself included, and I didn't think anything would ever get to you."

"We all have our breaking point," he mumbled.

"Yeah, but why? I mean, come _on_, when Rachel Berry thinks somebody else's problem is more important than her own, you _know _something serious is going down! Not to mention Sue Sylvester looking mad enough to nuke the entire state of Ohio off the map after meeting with you and Karofsky and your dads the other day. The principal doesn't expel a kid for making death threats unless they believe he's serious, and a guy like Karofsky doesn't make death threats unless he thinks he has something big to lose. Normally, he'd just beat the shit out of you and call it a good day. What's so different about this time?"

"How do you know about all of that?" Kurt blurted, appalled.

Santana shrugged. "Word gets around. Besides, I didn't spend most of last year spying on you guys for Coach Sylvester without learning a few tricks." Seeming to realize that glaring down and interrogating him was not the best way to handle a kid who already felt persecuted, she turned around and plopped down into the seat next to Kurt's. "You love New Directions and it would take something major to make you forget all about us a week before Sectionals. You're not a coward, so whatever Karofsky did must have scared the piss out of you to make you run rather than face him even one more time. What's going on?"

Kurt stared at her for a long time. "Why do you care?" he finally asked, his voice cracking slightly. "You hardly ever speak to me unless you want to try out some new gay insult. I think I've heard more of those from you than from the entire football team this year, which frankly is more than a little hypocritical. Why should you even give a damn if you never have to see me again? And _don't _tell me it's because of glee club!"

"All right, I won't. You want the truth? Here it is. You're my teammate, Hummel," she said firmly. "You're my _friend. _Just because I refuse to hold your hand when you're whining about solos or because I like to watch your face turn that weird shade of red when I insult your sissy clothes and girly mannerisms doesn't mean that I don't care what happens to you."

Kurt looked so shocked that she nearly laughed in his face. "I don't . . . quite know what to say to that," he admitted.

Santana snorted in amusement. "That's because you haven't been paying attention. I'm one of the head bitches in this school and I know exactly what it's like to take crap every day for being who and what you are. You think I don't see the way some of those dick-wads look at me and Brittany? Or the way people laugh at me for losing my position as head Cheerio to the girl who got herself knocked up by _my _boyfriend last year? I _hate_ that shit, but I don't show my vulnerability to anyone and they all respect me for it. Until now, you've never acted vulnerable either. At least not in public. Even when your dad was sick and everybody was acting like such dumb-asses about you and God, you still had enough attitude for the whole fucking glee club. Who wouldn't admire that! Now, suddenly, it's like everything that makes you who you are is just . . . gone."

Kurt slumped lower in his seat, letting go a sigh that seemed to come clear from his soul. "You say you know how it feels, but you don't. You get harrassed every now and then. For me, it never ends, Santana. I think the week my dad was in the hospital was the only one all year where I haven't been slushied and slammed into lockers and called names that make me want to shrivel up and die." He shook his head. "People assume that I'm numb to the insults. That I've gotten used to all that other stuff, so it just rolls right off and doesn't matter because I don't allow it to. Hell, Mr. Schuester even said as much to me!"

"He was wrong, I guess?"

"So wrong," Kurt agreed quietly. "The constant repetition just makes it worse because after a while it's really hard to believe those words aren't true. Every time somebody calls me a fag or a homo or some other insult they've come up with to let me know I'm less than human to them, a little bit more of me withers away. The overwhelming blindness is even worse! Do you know how many times a week I get shoved and slammed and generally abused right there in the hallway in front of a hundred students and teachers, and yet somehow nobody ever sees anything? I am just _so _tired of it."

Loneliness seemed to echo in the stillness as he finished speaking and Santana swallowed, reaching out to squeeze his hand in silent support.

"With Karofsky it's personal," Kurt continued after a moment. "There's something he hates about himself and it just amplifies into rage whenever he sees me. I compared him to a monster in a horror movie and that's what he feels like to me lately. He just keeps popping up around random corners, invading my personal space, touching me and just generally terrifying me, reminding me that he could very well make good on that threat to kill me if I ever make the wrong move. Except, I don't know what the wrong move _is_! A word, a look, a gesture? I can't just wait around here to figure it out and hope that somebody will arrive in time to save me if something finally pushes Karofsky's panic button!"

Santana squeezed harder. The sheer desperation in his voice made her blink back tears. "I get it," she said roughly. "When I was thirteen, my dad used to have this friend who liked to drop by our house all the time. He was always looking at me and touching my arm or my face or my hair, every chance he got. Totally creepy pedo-vibe. I actually joined cheerleading in middle school just so I'd have a realistic excuse to avoid going home after school. This went on for months until eventually I told my dad. Luckily, he believed me and he broke off his friendship and that man never came by our house again, but if things had gone much farther, I totally would have run away."

"I'm not a thirteen year old girl," Kurt said bitterly, "and telling my dad didn't help at all. Well, no, that's not fair. It _did_, but not the way it should have. My dad went to Sue, Sue tossed Karofsky, then the school board decided that a star football jock threatening the life of some little nobody like me just didn't matter. Karofsky gets a free pass and I get the bonus of having totally pissed him off in addition to all his usual issues."

Santana smiled grimly. "Even letting the other Glee guys play Secret-Service wouldn't help you much in that situation. There's no way they could be there every minute. All Karofsky would have to do is wait until they got tired of being on watch and relaxed their guard, and…" She slapped her palm sharply, the resounding crack making Kurt jump. "Man, Karofsky isn't even here and he's got you jumpier than a cat on hot coals."

"I'm a wreck," he confessed shamefully. "It's gotten to the point that I can't even sleep at night without having nightmares about him."

"Sucks to be you," she said, but there was no venom in the comment and Kurt actually smiled a little. "Come on, Hummel. I'll help you pack up your locker."

Kurt grabbed his bag and followed her out into the hallway. "Thanks for not trying to talk me into staying."

She looped an arm around his waist, much the way she often did with Brittany or Puck, drawing a surprised look from Kurt. "I don't believe in lost causes. So . . . an all boys school. Is it, like, gay paradise or what? Because I am _positive _I saw a porno just like that once."

He laughed and draped his arm around her shoulders. "Actually, they're not a gay school. Believe me, I asked, because they are the most ridiculously hot group of guys I've ever seen in real life."

"Wait, _none _of them are gay? Are you sure you want to go there?"

"Well . . . some of them probably are. One guy I met definitely is. He came right out and told me so."

Santana laughed and poked him in the ribs. "I knew it! I knew there was another reason you wanted to attend Dalton. And does little mister homo-erotica have a name?"

"Yes, but I'm not going to tell you what it is," he protested. "I wouldn't put it past you to stalk the poor guy and ruin any chance I may have at impressing him with my super-diva hotness."

"So don't tell me. It's not a problem," she said lightly. "You got family connections now, and I'll bet becoming a Hummel by marriage didn't make Finn any smarter. I'll just trick him into giving me all the dirt."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "You are such a bitch."

"Takes one to know one, baby."

As they walked and talked, Santana hugged him just a little bit tighter. They were going to miss each other, even if neither one would ever admit to such an impossible thing.


	14. Will: Christmas Visitor

**This chapter came out WAY long. I had thought I might have to skip Will Schuester but his unexpected visit to Dalton in "A Very Glee Christmas" blossomed into this. I borrowed the dialogue from that scene to get me started. Be warned, you may need to have Carl the dentist on standby!**

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Will Schuester sighed as he crumpled up the list of gift ideas for Sue Sylvester and tossed it over his shoulder. He had been trying and failing all day long to think of something appropriate. It had to be some kind of cruel joke that he, of all people, had been tasked with buying the perfect gift for a woman who counted her day incomplete if she had not made at least one attempt to squash him and everything he loved!

Although, to be fair, the same could be said for Figgins, Bieste, Emma and pretty much every other member of the WMHS faculty. Sue was like a natural disaster, raging through their lives with no pity or remorse for how much damage she left in her wake, demanding and receiving equal measures of fear and respect from everyone.

How the hell did one buy their own personal "Sue"-nami a Christmas gift?

To make things worse, if he did not put thought into the gift and make it somehow personal then Sue would be insulted and probably become even more miserable to him.

Will shook his head. He felt like a little kid being picked on by the schoolyard bully.

Then he smiled, suddenly remembering Kurt Hummel telling Sue a few weeks ago that she acted like a bully whenever she bestowed the casual nickname "Lady" on him. Sue had promptly responded by offering a choice of three new and even more demeaning nicknames, to which Kurt had merely sighed in defeat and picked the least-objectionable.

Kurt had been living in a state of torment and terror, yet he had not been the least bit afraid of Sue Sylvester. After his short tenure with the Cheerios last year, he even seemed to like her and Will thought he had detected a spark of mutual fondness in Sue's attitude toward Kurt.

Certainly her overall disdain for the Glee club had ramped back up since Kurt left. Since they had let him go.

A sigh gusted over Will's lips. Maybe he was projecting his own guilt and culpability over not stepping in to address the insane amount of bullying at McKinley in time to stop one of the Glee kids (_His_ kids, as he always thought of them.) from being driven out, onto Sue. Or maybe dwelling on how much he missed Kurt – he'd always had a particular soft spot for his original six New Directions – was just a convenient way of procrastinating away from picking Sue's gift.

And then it hit him. It was only 4pm and Dalton Academy was only about ninety minutes away. He could pay Kurt a visit, catch up on his new life and reassure himself that it was actually a _better_ life, and ask for some gift-giving advice at the same time!

Was it a slightly inappropriate action, driving so far out of his way to spend time alone with a former student? Probably.

Was it a flimsy excuse to avoid going home to spend yet another evening in his achingly empty house? Possibly.

Was he going to do it? Absolutely!

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The music from the impromptu duet faded and Kurt felt his smile freeze in place. It had been so warm and flirty, such a perfect moment of playfulness that he had allowed himself to forget for a few seconds that it wasn't actually real. Then Blaine had coughed out a slight laugh and it had reminded him that for his friend this had just been another rehearsal, a show. Blaine always got into a performance and gave it his all, even when the Warblers were just singing warm-ups at the beginning of practice.

It hadn't meant anything.

"I think you're ready," he said, forcing himself to sound calm.

Blaine nodded and rose, offering a smile as he said, "Well, for the record, _you_ are much better than that girl's gonna be!" and then just walked away with a friendly nod of thanks.

As Kurt wistfully watched him leave, his eyes settled on a new arrival who was exchanging a cordial nod of greeting with the departing Blaine. For a moment, Kurt did not react, unable to believe his eyes. Then the man tipped his head and smiled in that fond, familiar manner that spoke of home and WMHS and all the people and things that Kurt missed so desperately.

Rising, he wrapped his arms around his visitor without even considering whether he should be self-conscious about the gesture. "Mr. Schuester," he greeted, a little embarrassed to hear how much of that longing for home was projected in those two simple words.

They both laughed as the teacher returned his hug tightly. Mr. Shue had obviously missed him as well and Kurt was grateful for that knowledge.

"Oh, it's good to see you, Kurt," he said. Glancing back to the doorway through which Blaine had departed, he raised his brows and inquired, "Someone special?"

Kurt was a little surprised to see genuine interest in his former instructor's eyes. The teachers at Dalton were kind and supportive but there was a definite 'Do Not Cross' social line between them and the students. None were what he would consider a friend, certainly not like Shue was. He had not even realized how much he missed that openly caring attitude until this moment, when he found himself answering with a level of complete honesty that he never would have considered showing to this man before. "No, just a friend, but on the upside I'm in love with him and he's actually gay! I'd call that progress."

He was a little shocked to hear those words come out of his own mouth. He had never spoken them before, not even to himself. His tone had been playful, though, and he hoped Shue had taken the comment in that way. Certainly, he did not look repulsed by the revelation. In fact, his face just had that fond, funny, 'My babies are growing up!' look that he had always given to his boy and girl couples when they said or did something similar. It made Kurt feel warm to know that, in Will Schuester's eyes, he was no different from any of the others.

Shue gave him a light tap to the arm. "How you doing?"

"Classes are harder but the kids are kinder," he said frankly. Suddenly, he found himself struggling to maintain his composure as he added, "But I miss you guys a lot, though."

There was a sympathetic expression deep in those understanding eyes that made Kurt quickly need to turn the moment lighter.

"So what brings you here? Are you looking for teaching in a place where pencils aren't primarily used as weapons?"

It was a joke, but part of Kurt really wished he would answer in the affirmative. Instead Shue clapped him on the shoulder and moved closer to the fireplace, saying, "Actually, I need some holiday help." Kurt was instantly intrigued. This sounded like a shopping opportunity! "I don't know if you know this, but I am really bad at Christmas shopping."

He went on to describe the year he had bought his ex-wife a set of jumper cables for Christmas, nearly making Kurt burst out laughing because, who actually did things like that? Then again, he _was_ talking to a man wearing a broad checked print with a smaller plaid tie in dark colors that were just unlike enough to clash, topped by a boring, gray cardigan.

Kurt dragged his attention back to more important matters when Shue revealed that he had drawn Sue Sylvester in the office gift pool and could use some help in shopping for her. Sympathy for that difficult chore mixed with excitement over the challenge presented filled Kurt's heart. The words were barely out of the teacher's mouth before Kurt told him, "I have the perfect idea."

~#~#~#~#~#~

Will was delighted when Kurt immediately offered to get his coat and accompany him to a nearby shopping mall. He had no idea what sort of gift Kurt had in mind, but by the way his entire face had lit up with a familiar expression of excitement that Will suddenly realized he had not seen in far too long, he knew it was going to be interesting.

"Is that okay?" Will said. "I mean, I'm not going to get you into trouble for leaving school grounds or anything?"

Kurt brushed off the worry. "No, we're free to come and go after classes are done for the day. I just have to sign myself out and make sure I'm back in time for curfew."

"Not interrupting any holiday plans, then?" he checked, remembering with a slight frown that he had hardly seen anyone on his way through the visitor check-in or the corridors that led to the study lounge where one of the boys had escorted him.

"No, I was just catching up on some studying. The test isn't for two more days, though, so it's nothing I can't put aside for a while. In fact, I don't have kitchen or dining hall duty tonight, so we could even catch a bite at one of the restaurants near the mall if you'd like." Kurt paused, his eager smile fading as a blush heated his round cheeks. "Oh, but maybe I'm presuming too much. You probably need to get back to Lima. I'm sure you must be really busy."

"Definitely not too busy to share a meal with one of my favorite students," he corrected, squeezing his shoulder again.

The shy smile that lit Kurt's face told him he had said the right thing.

He laughed. "Besides, you didn't think I really drove all the way to Westerville just to borrow a catalogue or something, did you? I came because I wanted to see _you_, to find out how things are going since you left. We never got a chance to talk at the Sectionals competition."

Kurt's expression grew brighter, even as he apologized, "I'm sorry for that. I wanted to come talk to you guys but we had to leave right after the result was announced. Just bad timing. I'd love a chance to catch up."

"Glad to hear it. Dinner's on me, then!" he said easily, smiling as he added, "Are you sure it's okay for you to be seen in the company of an enemy choir director, though?"

To his relief, Kurt laughed. "At the risk of being court-martialed by the Warblers Council, I think we'll be fine."

"Great! I'll wait here while you put your books away and get changed," he said, preparing himself for a long wait. After all, this boy was the king of accessorizing. The one he used to see in anywhere from two to four completely different outfits on any given school day.

Surprising him, Kurt brushed his hands down the lapels of his wool uniform blazer and said, "Should I? Does this bother you? We're supposed to wear them at all times on school grounds." Before he could think of a reply, Kurt shook his head and answered himself. "That's stupid. We just established that we're going _off_ school grounds. Why shouldn't I wear normal clothes? Okay, just . . . don't go away. I'll be right back."

Grabbing his textbook, notebook and pen, Kurt scurried out of the room. Will frowned as he watched him go, not knowing what to think.

~#~#~#~#~#~

Kurt all but ran to the junior-level dormitories. He was so excited it was almost embarrassing. Poor Mr. Schuester must think he was an idiot, though, acting so absurdly self-conscious about what to wear to a friendly dinner at a shopping mall. Slapping his books down on the desk, Kurt moved to the closet and started hunting through the few casual outfits that hung beside his uniforms.

"Who was that?"

Kurt jumped. He had not closed the door all the way when he had come in and Blaine was standing in the doorway with an interested look on his face.

"Will Schuester, my former choir director and Spanish teacher," he said, hoping he sounded as casual as Blaine did. "I promised to help him with some difficult Christmas shopping and in return he's taking me to dinner."

"Ooo, hot date with an older man," Blaine teased, coming the rest of the way inside and shutting the door. He sat down on Kurt's bed and grinned at him.

Kurt grimaced. "Please don't even joke about that. You'll give me nightmares. Mr. Shue is straight and even if he wasn't he's, like, forty and practically a second father to most of us. We're just going to eat and shop and catch up a little." He smiled. "I promise I won't give away any deep, dark Warbler secrets."

Blaine laughed. "I trust you, don't worry." He nodded at the deep burgundy sweater Kurt pulled out of the closet and held up with an inquiring look. "Very Christmassy! I don't think I noticed that when you were unpacking."

"You wouldn't have. It's new. My friend Artie's mother actually knitted this for me. It showed up in the mail run yesterday. I fully intended to pay her for it, but she sent the money back with a note telling me to consider it an early Christmas gift." As Kurt took off his blazer and tie and replaced them with the sweater, smoothing his hair neatly into place, he decided to leave the rest of his outfit alone. It was simple but classy and he did not want to keep his guest waiting any longer than necessary.

"Sounds like a really nice lady," Blaine observed.

Kurt nodded. "She is. So is her son. So are all of New Directions, actually. Even the people I've never been especially close to." He laughed and tried not to notice how hollow it sounded.

"You miss them, don't you?"

There was no point in lying about it. "I do, but there's a lot to love about Dalton, too." He kept his back turned as he said this, not wanting the other boy to see his face. Saying the words to Mr. Shue so casually a few minutes ago made him fear that he might blurt out the truth to Blaine as well, if he was not careful. Composing his features, he turned. "How do I look?"

"Like a million," Blaine said approvingly. Standing, he gave Kurt a wink. "Have fun and don't forget your new friends while shopping for your old ones, okay? My favorite color is blue."

Kurt smiled and picked up a pen off his desk, a cheap ballpoint, and tossed it to his friend. "There you go. Blue ink, just for you. Merry Christmas!"

The older boy clasped the pen to his breast and fluttered his eyelashes, making Kurt laugh. With a wave, Blaine went on his way again. Kurt stared after him for several seconds, then shook his head and grabbed his wallet and keys. Daydreaming later . . . shopping now!

~#~#~#~#~#~

Will looked up and smiled as Kurt reentered the room. He had changed into a very attractive red sweater and his eyes were shining. "Well, that didn't take long!"

"Ready to go?" Kurt asked, rattling his keys. "Figured I'd drive since I know where we're going."

"That sounds good to me," Will agreed, secretly suspecting that Kurt just did not want to be seen in his beat up old car.

Kurt signed out and they left the neat, perfectly maintained grounds of Dalton Academy. Will felt a strange sensation of relief at departing the formal, solemn, academic surroundings. It seemed to him that he saw a minute level of relaxation in Kurt's body-language as well.

"Hope I don't get us turned around," Kurt told him. "I'm afraid I haven't been off the grounds as often as I expected to be."

"You haven't been home either, I guess, since we haven't seen you," Will said, clearing his throat and forcing a smile into his next words as he realized how inappropriately disapproving that had sounded. "They must keep you guys pretty busy around here."

He did not miss the reddening of Kurt's ears. "They do. I mean, I was scrambling to catch up with the Warbler routines before we went to Sectionals and then I've mostly been trying to get up to the level of everyone else in my classes before Finals. It seems that being a new student doesn't exempt me from taking those. There just hasn't been much time for visiting. It's not that I don't want to see you guys or anything like that."

"It's okay, Kurt," he said quietly, hearing the anxiety and apology in his voice. "I'd be lying if I said that your voice and your presence haven't been missed. I find myself listening for you at every practice and feeling just a little disappointed when you're not there but you left McKinley for a very valid reason and no one is holding that against you. Least of all, me. Your life has changed a lot these last few weeks and it's going to take some time to adjust. For all of us."

He nodded. "I was afraid everyone would hate me for leaving," he admitted, so softly his words barely carried over the sound of the car engine. "I'm not that far away but sometimes it feels like I dropped off the face of the earth when I left Lima."

"They don't hate you. They miss you, Kurt, a lot. Sometimes the only way people can get over the loss of someone they love is to make a clean break. It won't last for long. Friendships like the ones you made with the other New Directions kids don't just disappear."

Kurt bit his lip. "Think so?"

Heart aching at how young and insecure he sounded, Will made up his mind to light a fire under his kids the next time he saw them and said, "I know so." Changing the subject he said, "So, what kind of idea did you have for Sue?"

~#~#~#~#~#~

Kurt felt a lot better after spending a couple of hours with Mr. Schuester. Something about the man's chipper demeanor and friendly laugh set him at ease in a way that was oddly contrary to the way it had so often annoyed him in the past. At one time, he had felt mocked and dismissed by that overly cheery attitude. Now it made him happy.

Apparently homesickness did weird things to a person's perceptions.

Luckily, Shue was delighted with the fur-lined winter track suit Kurt suggested as Sue Sylvester's gift. He had seen it in the display window the last time he had come to the mall – something he often did in his free time when he was feeling lonely or nostalgic – and been amused at how very "Sue" it was.

He also found a beautiful blue scarf with a very subtle pattern of musical notes interwoven through the knit in a slightly darker shade. It was gorgeous and perfect for Blaine, but Kurt found himself hesitating to buy it. He did not want to presume too much. Fortunately, his companion solved the dilemma by pointing out another scarf just like the first, but in a lovely shade of green that he suggested would look good on Finn if Kurt was stuck for a gift.

Kurt smiled at that. It was true. Blaine could hardly read anything too intimate into the gift if he discovered that Kurt had also given one to his brother, right? The irony of giving matching presents to both of the boys he had carried hot, unrequited – as far as he knew – torches for did not escape Kurt, but he liked the suggestion anyway.

Over dinner at a small Mexican restaurant, Kurt and Shue found more things to talk about than Kurt would have expected. Will Schuester was actually a very fun person to hang out with when he did not feel obliged to keep up the façade of teacher/student authority. He caught Kurt up on New Directions and their efforts to bring a happy holiday to their fellow students via caroling. Kurt could only shake his head at the news that one of the teachers had actually chucked a shoe at them.

In return, Kurt colorfully described the impromptu concerts and 'rock star' attitude with which the other students viewed the Warblers. Shue nodded enthusiastically at that and tried to convince him that that's how Glee Club at McKinley had been back in his day. Having met April Rhodes, Terri Schuester and Bryan Ryan, Kurt had his doubts on that score, but he smiled and agreed that it must have been amazing.

Kurt also learned all about the elder Mr. Schuester, who was attending law school and taking his wife to some kind of conference in New York over the holidays, and heard a couple of stories about his teacher's Christmases as a small boy. He even shared a few anecdotes of his own.

"I know atheists aren't supposed to celebrate Christmas but my dad and I always did it anyway," he said with a laugh. "Dad goes out and gets these gigantic pine trees that never fit against the ceiling and we end up trimming off a quarter of it from the base, which leaves the tree either too short, or too uneven or just sort of scraggly around the bottom. Somehow, it always looks amazing once it's fully decorated, though. I never have figured out how that works."

"Christmas miracles," Shue theorized solemnly. "They're everywhere this time of year."

He smiled but then the humor faded away. "I'm too late to be part of anything like that this year. Finn and Dad already got a tree. Finn texted me yesterday about how much fun the three of them had decorating it together. School lets out here on the 23rd and I'll be home in time for Christmas Eve but all the good parts will be over with by the time I arrive." He tried to laugh but the sound fell flat. "I'll just be one of those out of town relatives who shows up for dinner and presents."

"Never," Shue told him kindly. "It won't matter if you're there for a week or for an hour, Kurt. They'll be just as excited to see you and just as happy that you could share some time with them. They love you as much as you love them and that's what family is all about."

"Friends, too," he returned quietly, unable to completely disguise the lump in his throat. "I really appreciate you coming out to see me, Mr. Schuester. I think I really needed this."

Shue just smiled and patted his forearm. It was one of the things he had always liked about his former choir advisor. He was a very tactile person and those unthinking touches were extended to male, female, young, old, gay or straight, without prejudice. "Anytime, Kurt. I mean that. If you need to talk, feel free to give me a call."

Kurt nodded. He did not know if he would ever feel comfortable doing that, but the offer meant a lot.

~#~#~#~#~#~

Three nights later, after what felt like a whirlwind of activity both in and out of school, Will Schuester watched in awe-filled wonder as all twelve of his Glee kids laughed and chattered as they hung candy canes and ornaments on his brand new Christmas tree. A tree that had been supplied by Sue Sylvester, of all people! A Sue Sylvester who had stayed at the party just long enough to help herself to a beer and the entire cheese-log his mother had sent, bark a few orders at the kids over their sloppy candy-cane placement and offer just three additional insults to Will before going on her (more or less) merry way.

Christmas miracles were apparently still alive and well in Lima, Ohio.

The doorbell rang and before anyone else could move, Finn called out, "I got it!"

He rushed to the door and Will heard laughter and animated whispering. Just as he was about to get up and see what was going on, Finn reappeared, hiding something behind his back. "Hey, everybody!" They looked at him and he grinned hugely. "We just got a special delivery package from Westerville!"

Whoops and exclamations of welcome erupted as Finn stepped aside to reveal a shining-eyed, rosy cheeked Kurt Hummel. He was dressed in black boots, red skinny jeans and a thick red and white designer sweater. He even had a jaunty red cap and large holly-sprig brooch to set the outfit off, as well as an intriguingly full-looking cloth sack in his hand.

"Sorry, I'm late," he said. "I didn't know there was a party until Finn texted me."

Mercedes hugged him so hard that Will was afraid she'd break him, but Kurt just laughed and hugged back with equal enthusiasm. "Boy, why didn't you tell us you were back in town!"

"I only got back this afternoon and I wanted to spend a few hours with my dad," he apologized, putting the sack down as he continued to distribute hugs and handshakes to all comers. Rachel nearly strangled him with enthusiasm. Kurt just laughed and patted her on the back as he hugged her. "I spent most of this morning finishing my Christmas shopping. I was buying for so many people that I didn't dare invite any helpers. Hope you don't mind my showing up uninvited, Mr. Shue."

"You're always welcome, Kurt," he said happily, moving in to take his turn at a hearty embrace. "As far as not being invited, nobody was, so you're perfect!"

They all laughed and pulled him further into the room, everybody talking at once. Brittany brought the babble to a halt when she took a peek in the top of Kurt's abandoned luggage, gave his outfit a once over and asked, "Can you stay or do you have a lot more houses to visit?"

Kurt looked at her blankly. "Huh?"

Gently, Santana led Brittany away from Kurt as she started petting his sleeve. Artie pulled her down to sit in his lap. "He's not Santa Claus, Brit," the girl told her. "It's just Kurt."

"Are you sure?" she said, frowning. "It's Christmas Eve and he has presents and he's dressed like Santa. Santa can change the way he looks, you know. Just this week, he's been black and green and white, and I'm sure he can look like Kurt if he wants to."

Taking her hand, Kurt leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, bringing a happy smile to Brittany's face. "It's just me, Boo, but Santa did give me some presents to give to all of you."

She clapped her hands and squealed. The rest looked equally excited.

The boys wasted no time distributing boxes as they noted that each gift had a neatly written tag on it. They were all simple things, sweaters, scarves, necklaces, hats, but each item had been chosen with care to reflect the recipient and everyone was delighted to receive something.

As the kids were comparing gifts, Kurt sidled over to Will and gave him a shy, apologetic smile. "I'm sorry to say that I didn't buy you a gift, Mr. Shue. None of the things I was getting for the others seemed appropriate somehow. So, if you don't mind, I thought I would sing a song for you."

Will swallowed to clear the lump blocking his voice. "I can't think of any gift I'd rather have, Kurt."

There was no piano present and Will's guitar was upstairs but Kurt did not seem to expect any instrumental accompaniment. A hush filled the room as he cleared his throat and began to sing acapella.

_I'll be home for Christmas_

_You can count on me_

_Please have snow and mistletoe_

_And presents on the tree_

Smiles wreathed the room as the New Directions spontaneously began to provide background music, softly so as not to overwhelm Kurt. Shue did not even attempt to hide the tears that welled up in his eyes.

_Christmas Eve will find me_

_Where the love light gleams_

_I'll be home for Christmas _

_If only in my dreams_

The words were sung through one more time as the other kids surrounded them, forming a loving circle around their teacher and their friend. Tears were sparkling everywhere and Kurt smiled as he sang the final phrase and his own tears slipped down his cheeks.

Kurt looked around at all of his friends, then back at his teacher with a smile as he said quietly, "Merry Christmas, Mr. Shue."

Will stood up and embraced him, feeling the arms of his other students join in to form a huge group hug.

"Merry Christmas."


	15. Lauren: Hamburgers and Humble Pie

**The Dalton Academy arc kind of screwed up my plan for this story, because after he became a Warbler, Kurt never interacted with anyone except those characters I'd already written chapters for! (One to a customer, remember…) I think I now have enough material to finish out the rest of the McKinley characters, (Except for Quinn. C'mon, Nationals Ep, give me something to work with here!) but I haven't decided yet if I'll write any of the Warblers. I honestly expected Kurt to have more interaction with the Dalton boys beyond Blaine, but we never really got to know any of them. *sad face***

**So, anyway here we go! I thought I'd start with Lauren Zizes, whom I love even though she's a total tyrant.**

#

#

#

"You, me, cheeseburger! My treat so you're driving."

Kurt stood rooted to the spot in front of his locker, mouth still half open with whatever he had meant to say to Mercedes. "Was she talking to me?"

"She was looking right at you. I'd say so."

He blinked at his best friend and ventured, "And, um . . . should I . . .?"

Mercedes grinned. "I would. It's not really a good idea to piss her off."

"Right." Stuffing his books into his open locker, Kurt grabbed his wallet and keys. Breaking into a trot, he followed in the direction that Lauren Zizes had taken as she blew past and called back, "I'll catch you up after lunch! Send a search party for the body if I don't make it back by Glee!"

He could hear Mercedes laughing as he hurried toward the student parking lot. He could not even imagine what Lauren could want. Outside of a few classes and a couple of times he had politely requested help from the A.V. Club with special projects, they had rarely spoken prior to Kurt's temporary transfer to Dalton Academy. They had interacted a bit more in Glee Club since his return and Lauren had been part of the prom-dress edition of McKinley Project Runway last week, but that was about it. Certainly she had never actively sought his company!

Lauren was waiting next to Kurt's Navigator by the time he made it to the parking lot. He was silently impressed by this. For a big girl, she moved fast! He unlocked his door and buckled himself in, waiting for Lauren to do the same before he asked, "Any preferences?"

She nodded sharply. "Go to B.K., and be sure to use the Drive-Thru. We don't need anyone up in our private business."

Well . . . that sounded vaguely alarming.

Part of him wondering why he was blithely following orders, Kurt started the engine and drove six blocks to the closest Burger King. When he reached the speaker and was asked for his order, he stared blankly at the menu board. He _never_ ate here and had absolutely no idea what might be worth ordering.

There were a couple of salad options. At least that would be reasonably healthy.

As if sensing his intent, Lauren popped her seatbelt free and leaned across his body, pinning him in place as she barked, "Four double Whoppers with cheese, two large fries and two Cokes!"

"Make one of them Diet Coke, and no mayo on the burgers!" Kurt managed to interject before Lauren glared him into silence, pressing him harder against his seatback.

Fearing that the WMHS wrestling champ just might snap him like a twig, Kurt kept his mouth shut when she grumbled, "Fine, no mayo, but give us some mustard packets to make up for it, and add two pies to the order."

Mind boggling at the sheer amount of calories and fat in the food she had just ordered, Kurt barely noticed the total that was called back. He just pulled up to the pick-up window and passed Lauren's money to the cashier, silently handing back her change and the bulging sack of fast food.

Clinging to his cup of Diet Coke in instinctive defense against the damage he was about to inflict on his poor, defenseless stomach (not to mention his complexion), Kurt headed for the exit and meekly asked, "Where next?"

"Back to school. It's nice out. We can eat in the park across the street."

They soon found themselves on opposite sides of a warped and somewhat splintery picnic table with the wealth of food spread before them. Lauren passed him a burger and an apple pie, shrugging when he refused the heaping box of fries and adding it to her own pile, which she liberally doused in ketchup before digging in.

Kurt unwrapped his lunch, staring at the huge burger – God, there had to be about a thousand calories in it – with dismay for a few seconds before sighing and reaching for a mustard packet. He scraped out about half the ketchup and most of the onion slices, because seriously, if he was going to eat this thing he _would_ like to be able to taste it, and took a bite.

"Good, huh?" Lauren grunted, already halfway through her second one.

He reluctantly had to admit that she was right. One benefit of eating junk food so seldom was how delicious those rare treats always tasted. "Yeah," he agreed, swallowing the first bite before adding, "Thanks."

She shrugged one shoulder, mowing through a couple dozen fries before replying. "I owed you one. You're all right, Hummel."

Kurt looked up. "You . . . what do you owe me for?"

"You were pretty cool about helping me find a good Prom dress. Puck claimed you were awesome and all, but I didn't believe him. Now, I do."

A small grin tugged at Kurt's lips. He had no idea when or why Puck had decided that they were "bros" during his time away, but the other boy had made no secret to anyone about the fact that he considered them friends now. He wasn't one of Santana's new anti bullying posse, the Bully Whips, but he had been seen to flex his 'guns' menacingly at anyone who looked at Kurt wrong in his presence. It was . . . touching.

"I didn't realize you and Puck were that kind of couple," he ventured. At her questioning look, he added, "You know, 'any friend of theirs is a friend of mine'?"

She snorted, stuffing the last of her third hamburger into her mouth. Kurt was still only halfway through his one. "I make up my own mind, Pixie. Puck just made me look a little closer," she said, posturing a bit. Then she huffed, a twinkle of humor filling her eyes and added, "What I saw wasn't so bad. You're a toothpick and there were days I wanted to strap a ball and chain to your ankle in case you started to float away, but then I realized you didn't need one. Those freakin' brass balls of yours are big enough to keep you grounded against anything."

Kurt choked on his soda. "What?"

"The blog-o-sphere was calling you a runaway coward last fall when you transferred because Karofsky was pushing you around," she said bluntly. "Hudson claimed it was more intense than that, but he's kind of a pussy and he'd just become your brother, so nobody really believed him."

Finding he no longer had an appetite for it, Kurt tossed the uneaten portion of his burger back into the wrapper and tossed it into a nearby garbage can. Nobody had told him about that.

"Then I joined Glee Club," she continued, either unaware or just not giving a crap about the effect her words were having. Probably the latter. "At first, it was just to fill a spot and get my hands on Puck, but then I started to like it. It's a lot cooler than it looks from the outside. I started talking to the dweebs in New Directions, even started being friends with some of them. Totally jumped to the dark side, y'know?"

He nodded. In spite of his own irritation, he could not help smiling a little at this admission that the power of Glee had turned another doubting jock.

"They all loved you in there," she went on matter-of-factly. "Even that bitch, Lopez, though she tried to hide it. They talked about you all the time, how brave you were and how much they missed you, and on and on. Then you came back, and somehow you really _were_ stronger than I'd remembered. Kind of kick-ass, actually, but I figured it was just because nobody was picking on you to your face anymore."

Lauren finally looked up, the last of her lunch eaten and no more excuse to avoid his sharp gaze. Kurt was startled to see that she looked ashamed. He could not recall ever seeing this girl look anything other than swaggeringly confident, with the possible exception of when she had tried on that scarily ruffled yellow prom dress. "What are you trying to say?"

"I started the write-in campaign," she said quietly. "To get you elected Prom Queen."

Kurt gaped at her. "You . . . but you were running for it!"

"And I knew there was no way I was going to win against Fabray," she said, shrugging nonchalantly. "Especially after my plan to turn the school against her failed."

"Lucy Caboosey," he muttered, finally understanding where those startling posters of a brace-faced, overweight, younger Quinn had come from.

Lauren nodded, lacing her fingers in and out nervously. Pointing to his uneaten apple pie, she said, "You want that?"

He handed it over without a word. He hadn't wanted it anyway and now it seemed somehow tainted.

Lauren wasted a few extra seconds slowly unwrapping the dessert and then just held it rather than instantly scarfing it down as she had its mate. "When I was campaigning, I realized that not only were most people voting for Quinn, but the jock vote was split up big time among Hudson, Karofsky and Puck, so I couldn't count on being pulled up by my boyfriend's popularity either. So," she looked down again, ripping little shreds off the pie crust and dropping them to the table. "I decided to swing the vote with you."

"Why?" he asked helplessly. "Why would you do that to me? I never did anything to hurt you."

She swallowed, biting her lip. "It wasn't supposed to work. I told the wrestling team to write in your name for Queen. They thought that was hilarious, so they got their buddies on the hockey team to do the same. Karofsky used to be one of them, and he was always such a freakin' homophobe that I guess they figured the best way to get him back for switching to football and doing a 180 to protect you was to vote the two of you in together. The idea caught on and the joke spread. I had no idea how far it had gone until Saturday night. All I had wanted was to get enough of Quinn's votes diverted so that I'd have a chance. You were never even supposed to know."

"And that makes it okay?" Kurt whispered. "You got half the Junior class to plot against me and laugh at me behind my back, but as long as I didn't _know_ I was the school joke, then everything was just peachy?"

His voice was rising, louder and higher-pitched, and Lauren actually flinched. Kurt liked to think that at least a bit of her reaction was due to guilt.

"It was a douchey thing to do," she admitted. "I deserved to lose and you, even though you didn't want it, totally deserved to win, Kurt. I felt like the biggest piece of dog-shit on the planet when Figgins read your name and I saw you run out in tears. Then you came back, marched up on that stage, accepted the crown and basically told every one of us haters to go screw ourselves. It was the most awesome thing I've ever seen and I knew you were somebody I wanted for a friend. But I also knew that wouldn't happen unless I came clean and apologized. I was cruel, I was selfish, I made a stupid mistake and I own up to all of it. No excuses."

She stared at him expectantly and Kurt took a deep breath, his mind reeling. He had wondered, naturally, who had been behind that awful, hateful prank. It had never once crossed his mind that it might be one of the Glee kids. That group was supposed to be his safe haven in this school, his refuge!

Then again . . . Puck and Finn had once been his tormenters too. Rachel had stabbed him in the back a time or two, and he had done the same to her. The Cheerios had once tried to help shut down the club. There was more fighting and couple-swapping than a soap opera. They had all apologized, or otherwise proved their contrition to one another through actions, and moved on from those problems. Could he do the same here and now?

He studied Lauren's steady blue gaze for a few seconds. Lauren Zizes was not always the nicest or kindest of people, but she was decidedly one of the most straightforward. She had done wrong to both Quinn and himself, and she had offered a sincere apology for both. (Or so Quinn had told Mercedes, and Mercedes had told him.) If he could forgive Dave Karofsky for months of slurs, slams, slushies and threats, could he not let Lauren get away with one cruel action gone too far?

"Never, ever, do anything like that to me again," he said quietly. "If you have a problem with me, then say it to my face. If someone else tries to hurt me in your presence or sabotage me to your knowledge, you'll shut them down. In return, I promise that I'll do the same for you, and I'll help you with any future fashion emergencies or emotional crises that come up. If you want to be friends, it has to be an honest, two-way kind of friendship. Screw with me again, and I will bury you."

Her expression settled into one of respect and a surprising amount of pleasure. She smiled and held out a hand. "Deal."

They shook solemnly and Kurt felt a surprising amount of weight lift from his shoulders. Noah Puckerman liked to call himself a bad-ass, but the fact was that his girlfriend made him look as fierce as a six-week-old kitten. Half the jocks in school were terrified of her and somehow Kurt knew that his safety at this school had just increased immeasurably.

"Deal," he repeated. "Give me some of that, will you?"

Lauren grinned and snapped her now somewhat messy apple pie in two and handed half of it back to him. It was stiff, cold, disgustingly deep-fried and sugary, but as Kurt and his new friend figuratively broke bread to seal their agreement, it seemed to be one of the most delicious things he had ever eaten.


	16. Mike: Finntervention

**Okay, so this one is really short, but canon Mike and Kurt interaction is very hard to come by! Based off tiny bits of "Never Been Kissed" and "Born This Way". I'm uncertain how much time passed in the BTW episode, but I'm guessing a week.**

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"You need to stage an intervention."

Kurt's brows rose, not sure what to make of this. It was not exactly a normal thing to open his front door and find Mike Chang on the other side, wearing a grim expression and blurting out a firm, yet confusing statement before anyone had even said hello.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard what happened to Rachel, right?" he pressed.

Kurt struggled not to smile, amused that people were assuming that he was still up on all the latest New Directions gossip in spite of having attended a different high school in a different town for the last six months. "No, actually. I just got home from school and my phone needed charging so I haven't talked to anyone yet. What happened, did Finn break up with her again? Or, no, he's still dating Quinn this week isn't he?"

It was a lot harder to keep up with the revolving door dating policy of his old teammates when he wasn't there to see it in person.

"Yeah, he is. It's not about that. It's . . . um; can I come in for a minute?"

Stepping back, Kurt made room for him to pass. "Oh, sure! Sorry." His polite host instincts kicked in then and he said, "I was just about to make myself a sandwich, would you like one?"

For the first time since arriving, Mike smiled and nodded. "Got any turkey?"

Kurt quickly whipped up snacks for them both, and then led the way to the dining room table. Something about Mike's unusually serious demeanor suggested that this might take a while, so he figured they might as well be comfortable. "Okay, so what happened to Rachel? And why does she need an intervention?"

"No, not her, Finn," he corrected, chomping off about a quarter of the turkey sandwich Kurt had made him in a single, gigantic bite.

Taking a much daintier nibble of his own sandwich, Kurt frowned. "What? But didn't you just say…"

Gulping his food down with a swallow of Coke – part of Finn's personal stash, but Kurt figured he wouldn't mind sharing – Mike shook his head. "Let me start at the beginning. Mr. Shue decided that we were all doing okay on the singing part of our routines but that we still needed a lot of work on our group choreography. He took us into the auditorium for dance practice and Finn was, well, you know how he moves when he gets a new song, right?"

Putting down his food, Kurt stood up and began bopping in place, flailing his arms around with no regard to rhythm or style.

Mike laughed. "That's pretty much it." As Kurt resumed his seat, he went on, "He was doing that today and, unfortunately for her, Rachel was standing right behind him. He didn't see her and . . . whack!"

"He hit her?"

"Accidentally, yeah. Right in the nose. She was bleeding, so he took her to the doctor, but nobody knows how bad it is yet."

Kurt winced. "Ouch. Poor Rachel. And poor Finn! He must feel terrible."

Mike nodded. "Definitely, but that's why we need a Dancer-vention for Finn as soon as possible. In the past month alone, he's crashed into Tina, stomped on Puck's foot, tripped and fallen right into Artie's lap, accidentally groped Santana's boob..."

"Is that why he had that big bruise on his jaw?" Kurt interrupted. "He swore that was a basketball injury!"

"Nope, right cross, but you see my point. We have Nationals coming up, Kurt. We've got to do something!"

Kurt pondered this. "You're right. Why come to me, though? Shouldn't you be bringing this problem to Mr. Schuester?"

"He knows, and he's tried," Mike sighed, "But Finn starts to get better and then he gets overconfident and forgets everything he's been told and we're right back to square one. On the other hand, _you_ live with him, and you somehow managed to teach him how to slow-dance in the space of a week for your parents' wedding. A skill which he held onto well enough to dance with Quinn at the Spring Dance last week."

"Huh," Kurt grunted, taking a bite of his sandwich as he considered that.

Scooting forward in his seat, Mike said earnestly, "We have an assignment in Glee this week to perform a number about self-acceptance. We're supposed to find something about ourselves that we're self-conscious about, or have tried to change about ourselves but ultimately accepted, or are learning to embrace, and we're supposed to highlight that trait through performances. I was thinking that maybe Finn and I could perform together. He can sing and I can dance, but I can't really sing and he can't dance."

Kurt nodded. "Sort of an opposites compliment each other kind of thing? That sounds perfect for you both." He smiled. "So, what, are you afraid of being maimed in the attempt?"

Mike shrugged. "Not really. It's just that Finn's already self conscious about his dancing and after what happened today, I'm afraid he'll just get worse if we try to help him by ourselves. He trusts you, Kurt. And so do I."

Too surprised to play it off coolly, he blurted, "You do?"

"Yeah. You always have a lot of good ideas, especially when the obvious approach isn't working. Like that time Shue asked us to the last boys versus girls contest." He paused, squirming in his seat and then said, "I'm really sorry I didn't say anything when Puck and the others shot down your suggestions that week. Some of them wouldn't have worked for us, but lots of them were cool. If I had said so then, maybe you never would have gone to spy on the Warblers, maybe you would have trusted us to know you were having a lot of problems with the bullies, and maybe you'd still be with us now. Sam and Artie and I all felt really bad about that."

Not knowing what to make of the sudden shift in the conversation, Kurt curiously asked, "Is that what made you guys confront Karofsky in the locker room that time?"

A light blush colored Mike's cheeks. "Partly that, but it was also to impress the girls."

Kurt suspected he should feel insulted, but instead he laughed. "I should have guessed. And if I didn't say so before, thank you for doing that. Regardless of the reason, it meant a lot to me that you guys tried."

He took a deep breath, pressing down the emotional reaction to the startling realization that the other New Directions guys not only trusted his opinions but missed his presence among them. He had known that the girls felt that way, at least some of them, but not the boys.

Kurt filed the information away for later. He and his dad had been asked to take a meeting with Principal Figgins and the Karofskys tomorrow. Mercedes had told him about the half-assed apology Karofsky had offered the Glee Club on Monday. He didn't really believe it, but it was a move in the right direction and if things went well at the meeting, Kurt could not help hoping that it might be enough to allow him to return to his old school without fear of any further assault; a possibility that he had not yet shared with anyone except Blaine.

He had already started weighing the Pros and Cons, just in case, and Mike's surprising revelation was one more tick in the Pro column.

"So," he said, clearing his throat. "Getting back to Finn for a minute, I think you might be right that he'd listen to me. He's been taking this whole brotherly bonding thing pretty seriously since the wedding, but if he agrees to this, then you're going to have to help. I'm not exactly Arthur Murray and even if I was, something tells me that this is going to be a two-man project."

Mike grinned, polishing off the last bite of his sandwich with a satisfied nod. "That's exactly what I was thinking. So, you think I could come back here tomorrow after school?"

"Sounds good. Dad and I have a parent-teacher thing to go to first, but if you want to stop by here around six, you can eat dinner with us and you, me and Finn will have all evening to work on your number."

"Great, I'll ask Finn tomorrow. You really think he'll go for the idea?"

Kurt nodded. "He'll probably be glad to have something to take his mind off of Rachel. I really hope she isn't hurt too bad."

"Me, too," Mike agreed fervently. Draining the last of his Coke, he stood up. "I better get going. Thanks, Kurt."

"My pleasure," he replied, standing as well and walking his guest to the door. "Send me a text letting me know how things stand."

He grinned. "Will do. See ya."

Watching Mike hop down the front steps and jog out to his car, every move he made kind of a dance in itself, Kurt smiled. This could be a lot of fun and his whole body was tingling with the excitement of staging a dancing intervention. He loved any kind of makeover, whether it be fashion, singing, dancing . . . he wasn't picky. Sometimes he wondered if it might be his future destiny to write self-help books, averting music and fashion disasters around the globe.

For now, he looked forward to the rare opportunity to pretend like he was still a part of New Directions. Kurt sighed happily as he closed the front door. If things went well tomorrow, maybe he would soon be one of them again for real!

Hugging himself, Kurt grinned and gave a little hop of excitement before turning and charging up the stairs to his bedroom. He needed to see how much homework he had tonight, then give Mercedes a call and find out if she had any more information on Rachel.

After that he would start going through his music catalogue and see if he could find a good song for Finn and Mike to perform to. It would also be a good idea to plan out tomorrow night's dinner menu, something not too heavy that would provide lots of energy for dancing.

Lastly, he really needed to start putting together his meeting outfit for tomorrow afternoon! It had to be something fabulous but not too flashy, attractive yet businesslike. He needed to show that he was taking this matter seriously but that he wasn't going to be pushed into anything. If Principal Figgins or David Karofsky expected him to tone himself down or show contrition for his sexuality as a condition to returning to WMHS, they could go screw themselves. Kurt liked boys and he refused to be made to feel shame for that fact. Not any more. His father, stepfamily, girlfriends and Blaine all accepted him for exactly who he was, and according to what Mike had said, his male friends at McKinley did as well.

Kurt just needed to make sure that his authority figures and enemies would do the same and he would be home free.

A song began to hum from Kurt's lips before he realized it. Mercedes had told him the Glee Club would be singing "Born This Way" at the end of the week and he found himself smiling and singing the powerful anthem under his breath as he began unloading his school bag.

However things turned out tomorrow, this was going to be a great week.

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**(I'm choosing not to write the dance lesson because I know exactly zilch about dancing. I just thought it'd be cute if Mike asked Kurt to help with a Finn-tervention when we all know that Puck – or someone in N.D. – must've alerted him Rachel's need for a Barbra-vention later in the same episode. Kurt Hummel, staging Glee Club self-help seminars since 2009… LOL) **


	17. Sam: Not Really Charity

**I couldn't decide on a specific episode to base Sam's chapter on, so this is just a bit of general conversation and a wee bit of exposition.**

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Sifting through the odd – emphasis on _odd_ – assortment of clothing that Kurt had just dropped off at his temporary residence, Sam offered a wan smile. "You really don't have to keep doing this, Kurt. Finn came by and brought me some stuff that's more, um . . ."

"Jock-chic?" Kurt replied with a tiny smirk. "I know. I suggested it after he told me he was planning to come by and give you your guitar. He was happy to contribute a few things, particularly after I threatened to send you my non-existent, but I would imagine entirely fabulous, blue sequined riding trousers."

Sam laughed. "You made that up?"

"Mm," Kurt hummed in agreement, pawing through the box he had brought. "Those pants only got as far as the drawing board before I realized they wouldn't be practical. They would have cost more in materials than they were worth. Not that I plan to tell Finn that, but between the two of us, I knew we could come up with a few things you would like. Finn's clothing is more in line with your taste, but mine fits you better. Although, I really do need to stop offering fitted jackets. My Earth Day coat was so tight, you looked like you were about to channel the Incredible Hulk."

"What would you know about the Incredible Hulk?" Sam asked, instinctively perking up at the mention of comic books.

Kurt managed to hold a solemn expression as he replied, "Edward Norton, buffed out, no shirt; should I elaborate?"

"I'd rather you didn't," Sam replied, the laughter in his voice met with an answering chuckle from Kurt. "So, should I assume the new Green Lantern movie is on your must see summer viewing list?"

His eyes sparkled. "As a matter of fact, it is. Blaine and I are going on opening weekend. I'm trying to talk Mercedes into coming, too, but she doesn't want to be a third wheel. If I could find a fourth, I'm sure she'd come though, so let me know if you want to tag along."

Sam squirmed in place, dropping his gaze. "Oh, thanks for the invite but I don't exactly have the spare cash for movies right now."

"I wasn't suggesting that you pay for it," Kurt assured him quickly. "I should have made that clear. I forget sometimes that you weren't here last summer. My dad is good friends with the owner of the Lima Cineplex. He gives us free movie passes all the time in return for discount oil-changes and tire service. Dad doesn't really do summer movies, so he gives them to me and I bring along whoever I want."

"Really," Sam said, clearly dubious of this convenient stroke of charity.

Kurt was not at all ruffled by his skepticism. "Ask the others if you don't believe me." He grinned, adding, "Matt and Mike were ready to duke it out over who got to see the new Karate Kid movie with me last summer. I only had two tickets for that show, but luckily for them I didn't really care about the movie so I just gave them both passes."

"Who's Matt?"

"Oh, he was in the glee club with us last year. His dad is in the military and transferred their family to Texas before the new school year started, unfortunately. We still keep in touch from time to time, though."

Sam nodded. "Cool. So, you really wouldn't mind?"

"Not at all. I need somebody to keep Finn from pulling the brother privilege card. He tried to talk Dad into splitting the movie tickets 50/50, but I reminded him of all those sporting events they go to without me and he backed off. I'd be more than happy to let you be my guest for Green Lantern, as long as you follow the rules."

"What are the rules?"

"You agree to avoid the gigantic, thousand-calorie buckets of popcorn and not act grossed out by my instinct to drool over hot guys in skin-tight costumes, and I'll pretend to actually care about how said guy gets turned into a super-hero in the first place."

"I can live with that," Sam agreed.

"Excellent. It's a date then," Kurt said, so casually that it made Sam's smile grow bigger. It had taken awhile for Kurt to accept that he could say such things without danger of a freak out from the straight guy.

Going back to his clothing perusal, Kurt held up a shimmering, brown and gold silk blend button-down.

"What do you think of this piece? It didn't suit me as well as I expected, but it would go very nicely with your coloring. All we'd need to do is let out the seams around the arms a tiny bit so you won't rip it the first time you lift something."

Deciding he liked the subtle striping and soft fabric, Sam nodded. "Keeper."

Happily, Kurt nodded and tossed the shirt onto the Keep pile.

Sam watched him critically examine another garment, still feeling a little surprised by his lack of embarrassment when it came to accepting charity from this boy. Something about Kurt's matter-of-fact willingness to share his beloved wardrobe had cut right through his defenses. The other boy was just so clearly delighted with the chance to share his personal taste with a friend that Sam could not bring himself to resent it.

Kurt had been a nervously intense potential duet partner when they first met back in October, and it had freaked Sam out a little. Then, after he had backed off that project so swiftly and suddenly, Sam had realized that Kurt was so totally used to being treated like a disease-carrier just because he was gay, that he hadn't even hesitated to try and preserve a stranger's reputation by refusing to sing with him once he'd realized how others felt about it.

That hadn't sat well with Sam at all. Over the following month, he had observed Kurt and quickly decided that he was a good guy, a decent and honorable person. When Kurt had left McKinley in November, chased away by Karofsky's relentless bullying, which he and the other guys had not been able to stop in time, Sam had not been able to shake a personal sense of failure.

Maybe that was why Sam had found himself spilling his guts six months later when he had delivered an order of pizzas to Dalton Academy one evening and found Kurt Hummel on the other side of the door. Kurt had just been so very pleased to see him, pulling Sam inside and eagerly asking about his old Glee Club.

They had chatted easily for several minutes, then Kurt had asked how Sam himself was doing and why he had taken a job that required him to make deliveries so far away from home. For some reason, that simple question had sliced straight through Sam's casual facade and he had, to his everlasting embarrassment, started crying.

Kurt had transformed in an instant from cheery acquaintance to worried friend. He had handed the pizza boxes off to another student, shooing the concerned, dark-haired boy away with an assurance that he could handle things himself. He had drawn Sam into a small, opulently appointed lounge and sat him down, staring at him with his huge, luminous blue eyes full of empathy. Sam had not resisted when Kurt had held both of his hands and quietly asked if there was anything he could do. Not a ridiculous 'Are you okay?', or a pointless 'There, there', or an intrusive 'Tell me what's happened.' Just a simple, sincere offer of help, and Sam had been completely undone.

By the time Sam had finished pouring out his story and his tears, Kurt was crying a little bit too. He had managed to finagle Sam's address and phone number out of him, gotten the Warbler boys – apparently the occasion had been a late-night practice session – to kick in a $50 tip on the pizzas, refusing to listen to Sam's protest of it being too much, and giving him a stern look that somehow squashed any and all argument.

It still blew Sam away that Kurt had never once let the secret of his living situation slip once the gossip mongers at school had started throwing accusations around, including the whispered rumor that Kurt was cheating on his boyfriend. It would have been so easy to clear his name by telling people, but Sam had asked him not to and Kurt had kept his word, not even sharing with his best friends or step-brother.

Even after the secret came out, Kurt had remained as good of a friend as anyone could have asked for. In addition to clothing, he had taken to popping by with toys, games and movies to entertain the younger kids, and sometimes just stopping by for an impromptu song rehearsal and a few minutes chatting about nothing in particular.

Sam liked those last visits best of all. Sometimes he got the impression that, for Kurt, a little bit of comfortable, straight-forward, no obligation conversation with another guy was worth more than all of the time and personal possessions that he would ever contribute.

They talked about everything. The past, the future; favorite movies, books and foods – most of which they disagreed on; what places they would like to visit someday and what they would do if one of them won the lottery. They talked about weighty things like their dreams and aspirations, and lighter subjects such as whether Orlando Bloom had been better in the "Pirate of the Caribbean" movies or the "Lord of the Rings" movies.

Kurt was fun to be around, silly or serious as the mood called for it, and Sam often wondered during these conversations why the other guys at McKinley couldn't ever just take off their bigotry blinders long enough to really _see_ Kurt and figure out what a cool person he was.

"No freaking way!" he blurted out, snapping back to the present when Kurt pulled out a green polka dotted shirt and matching lime-green Capri pants, holding them up with a hopeful expression.

Kurt pouted, lower lip actually popping out a bit. "Why not? I assure you, they'd go beautifully with your skin tone and hair."

"No. They look like something my sister would wear. No offense, dude, but I really _don't_ want to attract that kind of attention."

Sighing sadly, Kurt nodded and added the ensemble to the Reject pile. "I do seem to remember getting quite a few Leprechaun cracks when I wore it," he admitted. "I should have known that it was far too good for those Neanderthals to appreciate."

Feeling kind of bad for shooting him down, Sam suggested, "They're not my style, but if you really don't want them anymore, maybe you could cut them down to fit Stacey. She has the same coloring as me, and she really loved that party dress you made for her."

Kurt perked up at once. "You think so?"

"Definitely." It had not surprised Sam very much to find out that Kurt was very good at sewing and altering, able to make original clothing items based on catalogue and magazine photos that Sam couldn't tell apart from the real thing, though Kurt always insisted that his creations had some tragic flaw.

"I might be able to figure something out," Kurt mused, picking up the outfit again and looking it over with a faraway expression, probably imagining a dozen different things he could do with the material.

Sam grinned, secretly patting himself on the back for his quick thinking. "Figure it out later," he suggested, jumping up and stuffing the few items he had deemed acceptable into a drawer, ignoring Kurt's expression at seeing his neatly pressed garments so offensively abused. "It's a nice day out. Let's go over to the park and see if we can figure out the choreography for those new songs Shue gave us last week."

Allowing himself to be torn away from the clothing, Kurt stood and straightened his outfit. "All right. Mike was planning to work with Finn on those dances this weekend anyway. Let's call and see if they'd like to join us."

"Cool," he agreed, secretly glad to escape the fashion review, even if it required dance practice to get out of it.

"I'm meeting Blaine at the coffee shop at 3 o'clock," Kurt added, neatly boxing the rejected clothing back up and hefting the cardboard container into his arms, "So I can't stay too long, but I'm sure we can make a good start."

Sam nodded. "You could invite him too, if you want. The Warblers aren't competition anymore so it won't matter if he sees what we're working on."

Kurt beamed at him, awkwardly juggling his burden as he whipped out his phone. Sam grabbed the box as it started to tip and helpfully carried it back out to Kurt's truck for him while he happily chattered away, issuing invitations and giving directions.

Only half-listening to the conversation, Sam also grabbed his little brother's soccer ball. Stevie was out with their dad today and wouldn't miss it, and Sam had a feeling that it wouldn't be too hard to distract the other guys away from dance practice for a quick game.

Kurt wasn't a big fan of sports, but he liked to kick and from what Sam had been told by Finn and Puck, he was pretty good at getting a ball where he wanted it to go. He'd probably enjoy a chance to show off for his boyfriend, too. That was partly why Sam had suggested including Blaine. He knew that there weren't a lot of dudes around who would be cool hanging around with a gay couple, but the Glee guys would not mind and it made Sam feel good to be able to do this one little thing – which maybe wasn't such a small thing in Kurt's eyes – in return for all the things Kurt had done for him.

They might never be even on the charity scale, but as Sam watched Kurt glanced over at him and nodded to indicate that the others had agreed. He was grinning brightly, so much happiness shining in his bright blue-green eyes that Sam decided maybe it did not matter so much who was ahead.

They were true friends now, and friends looked out for one another. In whatever way they could.


	18. Karofsky: Starting Over

**Post "Prom Queen".  
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Kurt took a deep breath to brace himself as he walked up the steps of McKinley High, lifting his chin and straightening his posture as he let the gust of air whoosh past his lips. He straightened the lines of his eggplant purple silk shirt and dark gray herringbone trousers, fingers twitching up to check the placement of the elegant purple and gold monarch's crown brooch he wore at his throat.

He had not been in the mood for brilliant colors and ostentatious styling today, but he had wanted anyone who looked at him to receive a subtle reminder of what they had done on Saturday night. He wanted them to remember that Kurt Hummel had triumphed over the cruel attempt to humiliate him by crowning him Prom Queen.

In spite of that event, he had managed to have a good time on Saturday night, dancing with his classmates and Blaine for the final hour of the prom and refusing to let anyone see how much they had hurt him. As far as anyone else could tell, he had been proud, happy and carefree.

Blaine had known the truth, of course, and had glued himself to Kurt's side like a fierce little watchdog for the rest of the evening and all day on Sunday. He had charmed Kurt's reluctant father into letting him spend the night on the Hummel sofa, and had whisked Kurt off for adventure the moment he came downstairs. He had started off by buying him breakfast and then taken him sight-seeing, as difficult as that was in boring little Lima, OH. He had been feverishly determined to distract Kurt from any temptation to brood, filling his hours with songs, slyly sneaked kisses, wild bouts of shared laughter and good conversation.

Kurt had been grateful beyond words, but now Monday morning had arrived and Blaine could not be here to face this particular challenge with him. It was up to Kurt alone to walk through those wide front doors and face his peers, not knowing whether the events of Saturday night would make him a hero, or even more of a joke than usual.

He began to relax a bit as he made his way up the stairs and toward the east wing hallway where his locker was located, receiving nothing more sinister than a couple of sneers and a middle finger from one of the hockey players. Considering the questionable brainpower of anyone who thought that sporting a mullet made him a badass, Kurt was magnanimous and simply ignored the pathetic puck-head.

When Kurt rounded the corner and saw his locker, he stiffened instinctively, like a rabbit poised to flee from a wolf. Dave Karofsky was leaning against the metal door, waiting for him.

Reminding himself for the hundredth time that Dave had declared his bullying ways to be in the past, Kurt slowly approached him. "Now that prom is over and done with, I find it unlikely that Santana will bother keeping up the Bully Whips," he said quietly, noting the bright red jacket his companion was wearing – though thankfully he had eschewed the beret this morning. Kurt always had a terrible (and potentially suicidal) urge to laugh when he saw that particular fashion don't. "Particularly in defense of the guy who cost her the crown. No one will expect you to escort me to class anymore."

Dave shifted to the left, allowing Kurt to spin his combination and begin gathering the appropriate books from his locker. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, eyes darting nervously around to make sure that nobody was listening. "About Saturday, about running out on you like that."

One slim shoulder lifted in a casual shrug. "Probably my own fault for suggesting that moment would make a good coming out party," he said, equally softly. "I apologize; it wasn't my place to push."

"I just couldn't do it. They hate me already," the big teen muttered. "The guys, I mean. Some of the girls too, I guess. They hate me for protecting you with this."

He ran a hand over the sateen lapel of his red jacket.

"Yes," Kurt agreed sourly, giving his already perfect hair a spritz of hairspray just to have something to do with his hands. "I strongly suspect that was the real reason you ended up being crowned alongside me. What better candidate could they choose to play 'humiliate the homo' with me than the turncoat who's been protecting me? Ironic, considering that you would have been the ringleader as little as a month ago."

Picking up on the hint of bitterness in his voice, Dave's jaw set. "I told you I was sorry for all that."

Setting the can of hairspray back inside his locker, Kurt turned to look him in the eye, his own eyes flashing with annoyance. "I know. I get it. I even accept that you might just mean it, but one apology can't just erase a year and a half of targeted torment, David. A couple of weeks escorting me to class and making yourself look like a public hero to the underdog does not counteract all the shoving, name calling, and other more personal abuses you've heaped on me since the day we met. It doesn't change the fact that you deliberately hurt and terrified me every chance you got, just because it made you feel like you had control over your own . . ." Realizing that his voice was rising, Kurt dialed it back to a sharp whisper, "_Secret_."

To his surprise, having half expected a shove or a punch to the face, an automatic retroaction to his former bullying ways, Dave Karofsky just slumped back against the lockers again, looking so tired and defeated that Kurt instantly felt guilty.

"You're right," the jock mumbled. "You didn't deserve all that crap. Not the stuff I did to you and not what happened on Saturday. If either one of us deserved to be punished by everyone that night, it was me."

Startled by the level of self-loathing he could hear in the other boy's voice, Kurt reached out and touched his arm. "Nobody deserves to be publicly humiliated, Dave. Especially over something they can't control."

Ducking his head, the bigger boy surreptitiously dashed at his eyes, sniffling as he drew himself back up to his full height and threw his shoulders back, attempting to disguise his moment of weakness. "Yeah . . . yeah, I guess. So, was it very bad after I left the dance? Did they . . . were you . . . did you stick it out?"

Knowing what he was trying to ask, Kurt nodded. "I did. Blaine asked me to dance, right there in front of everyone. A horrible moment was transformed into a beautiful one. I've never felt so proud or thankful for anyone in my life."

"I wish it could have been me," Dave replied gruffly, clearly taking Kurt's words as additional chastisement, even though he had not meant them that way. "You deserved that after being so awesome about accepting the crown. You totally owned all those losers. I . . ."

He suddenly blushed bright red and Kurt's eyes widened in shock. "You, what?" he asked carefully, a little nervous all of a sudden.

"I was proud of you," he said, the words filled with quiet honesty. "You were really amazing, Kurt."

A shy smile tilted Kurt's lips. He wasn't ready to forget all that this boy had put him through, or forgive all of the pain, misery and sacrifice that Karofsky's self directed homophobia had cost Kurt and his family, but the unexpected compliment made the burden lighten just a little bit more.

"You'll get there one of these days, Dave," he said sincerely. He smiled more fully when the green eyes rose to meet his, a spark of hope shining in their depths. "I promise. All it takes is a little courage, and maybe a friend or two to back you up when you don't feel strong enough to stand alone."

Hesitating only a moment, Kurt held out his right hand. For a second, Dave stared at the offered appendage as if he thought it might bite him. He quickly glanced around the increasingly crowded hallway and Kurt sighed in defeat, allowing his hand to lower as he realized that even that small gesture was too much for this boy to face in public.

Startling him, the other boy suddenly shot forward, capturing his hand before it could drop all the way back to his side. The large hand felt warm and hard in Kurt's palm, strong enough to crush him, and he abruptly flashed back to the feel of those same hands tightly clutching his face in a desperate grip as Karofsky – not Dave then – forced their lips to meet in an unwanted kiss.

Fighting the urge to yank his hand free and back away, Kurt instead squeezed, forcing himself past the memory. It was time they both started over fresh.

The first bell rang, breaking the moment and the two boys released each other's hands instantly. "I, um, I'd better get to class," Kurt said evenly. "Mr. Bain hates tardies and I can't afford to get detention today."

"I'll walk you. Santana might not care anymore, but until Principal Figgins says otherwise, the Bully Whips are still in business," Dave said, reaching into his back pocket and producing his red beret. Hearing Kurt's swift snort as he placed the tiny hat upon his head and fixed it just-so, Dave gave him a tiny sideways shove. Not enough to hurt him, just enough to throw him a little off balance as they walked. "Shut up, Hummel. At least I'm not wearing a lady brooch."

The comment, which would have enraged Kurt a few months ago, was met with a smirk and a toss of his head. "That's because your sense of fashion is severely undeveloped," he shot back. Eyes sweeping coolly up and down his escort's form, from the frayed laces of his dirty sneakers to the tip of his jaunty beret, he added, "Clearly."

Dave, who also would have taken great offense just a few weeks earlier, just snorted. "Yeah, well, if that's what you call fashion, then I'll stick with what I got."

"And that severe lack of vision and inspiration is why you will never rise beyond the plebian standards of this town," Kurt returned quickly.

A sparkle of enjoyment filled his eyes as they continued their sharp banter all the way down the hall. Dave paused to flex his fists and glare daggers at a few brave souls who ventured to cat-call them as they walked together, but for the most part the other students left them alone. Kurt felt surprised, but ultimately grateful for the lack of drama.

When they reached Kurt's first period English class, he nodded his thanks. "I have Puck, Lauren and Santana in the next few classes with me. You don't need to play bodyguard anymore if you don't want to." Seeing the doubtful expression on his face, Kurt smiled. "Maybe you can just meet me outside the Chem lab after 4th period and escort me to the cafeteria. Finn and the other Glee kids won't mind if you eat with us. Well, Mercedes might, but she'll get over it if I tell her it's my idea."

"I dunno," he mumbled, looking nervous again as he rubbed a hand over the back of his thick neck and shifted in place.

Kurt shrugged. "It's fine if you'd rather not. I understand that you don't need any more heat from the jocks. Just thought I'd offer."

"Thanks," he grunted. "I'll . . . I'll think about it."

Without another word, he turned and strode off toward his own first class. Kurt watched him go, a thoughtful expression on his face. He doubted the closeted jock would find the courage to buck his usual habits by lunchtime, and he wasn't even sure why he had asked.

It had just felt like the right thing to do. Kurt suspected that he had cracked open the door of Dave's stuffy little closet one more inch just by offering. He did not owe David Karofsky anything. Quite the opposite, in fact, but Kurt remembered how oppressive that closet could be. How scary it sometimes _still_ felt to venture out into the light. How easy it could be to lash out at people who seemed to have things so much easier than you did, all because you were scared of being yourself.

Dave might find the courage to open his closet the rest of the way by himself some day with enough outside encouragement. Even if Kurt never personally saw it happen, the possibility that someday it could happen was reason enough to keep on trying.

No, he did not owe it to Dave, but Kurt could not help feeling that in some strange way he owed it to himself.


End file.
